?y 



'^^^tc^^ 










Class 

Book \ ^ ^^4. 



BEQUEST OF 
ALBERT ADSIT CLEMONS 
(Not available for exchange) 



NATURAL THEOLOGY 



TRACTS, 



BY 



WXLLIAIME PALEY; X>. S. 



ARCHDEACON OF CARLISLE, 



NEW-YORK: 

ii'BMSHED BY S. KING, 136 WILLIAM- STREET. 
1534, 



i:^ 



VA I <.* I 



Bequest 

Albert Adsit Olemons 

A.VLS. 24:, 1038 

(Not avt^ilable for exchanfifa) 



Joimsioae & Van Noiden, Printers. 



pwff^ 



to THE 



^ HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND 

^ SHUTE HARRINGTON, L. h D. 



LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM, 



My Lord, 

The following Work was imdertalxeii at your 
Lordship's recommendation; and, amongst othei 
tnotives, for the purpose of making the most ac- 
ceptable return that I could, for a great and impor° 
tant benefit conferred upon me. 

It may be unnecessary, yet not perhaps quite im- 
pertinent to state to your Lordship, and to the 
reader, the several inducements that have led me 
once more to the press. The favour of my first 
and ever-honoured Patron had put me in possession 
of so liberal a provision in the Church, as abun- 
dantly to satisfy my wants, and much to exceed my 
pretensions. Your Lordship's munificence in con- 
junction with that of some other excellent Prelates?, 
who regarded my services with the partiality with 
%vhich your Lordship was pleased to consider them, 
hath since placed me in ecclesiastical situation?^ 
more than adequate to every object of reasonable 
ambition. In ine mean time, a weak, and, of late, 
A painful state of health, deprived me of the power 
of discharging the duties of my station in a manner 
•t ail suitable, either to my sense of thpse dutiei?; 



W DEDICATION^ 

of to my most anxious wishes concerning thein 
My inability for the public functions of my profes- 
sion, amoi^st other consequences; left me much at 
leisure. That leisure was not to be lost. It was 
only in my study that I could repair my deficiencies 
in the church: it was only through the press that 
I could speak. These circumstances entitled your 
Lordship in particular to call upon me for the only 
species of exertion of which I was capable, and 
disposed me without hesitation to obey the call in 
the best manner that I could. In the choice of a 
subject, I had no place left for doubt : in saying 
which, I do not so much refer, either to the su- 
preme importance of the subject, or to any scepti= 
cism concerning it with which the present times 
are charged, as I do to its connexion with the sub- 
jects treated of in my former publications. The 
following discussion alone was wanted to make up 
my works into a system : in which works, such an 
they are, the public have now before them, the evi- 
dences of Natural Religion, the evidences of Re- 
vealed Religion, and an account of the duties that 
result from both. It is of small importance that 
they have been written in an order the very reverse 
of that in which they ought to be read. I com- 
mend, therefore, the present volume to your Lord- 
ship's protection, not only as, in all probability, 
my last labour, but as the' completion of a regular 
and comprehensive desion. 

Hitherto, my Lord, I nave been speaking of my- 
self, and not of my Patron. Your Lordship wants 
not the testimony of a Dedication ; nor any testi- 
mony from me : I consult therefore the impulse oi 
my own mind alone when I declare, that in no re- 
spect has mjr intercourse with your Lordship been 
more gratifying to me, than in the opportunities 
which it has afforded me, of observing your earnest, 
active, and unwearied solicitude, for the advance- 
ment of substantial Christianity ; a solicitude, ne- 
vertheless^ accompanied with that candour of mind, 
which suffers no subordinate differences of opinion, 
when there is a coincidence in the main intentior. 
and object, to produce any alienation of esteem, or 
diminution of favour. It is fortunate for a country. 



DEDICATIOK. ^ 

and honouifable to its government, wlien qualities 
and dispositions like these are placed in high and 
influencing stations. Such is the sincere judgment 
which I have formed of your Lordship's character, 
and of its public value : my personal obligations 1 
can never forget. Under a due sense of both these 
considerations, I beg leave to subscribe myself; 
with great respect and gratitude. 

My LorD; 

Your Lordship's faithful 

And most devoted servant 

WILLIAM PALET 

Bishop- Wearmouth , 
My, 1802, 



n 



NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



CHAP. I. 

State of the argument. 
In crossing a heath; suppose I pitched my foot 
against a stone, and were asked how the stone 
came to be there : I might possibly answer^ that 
for any thing I knew to the contrary, it had lain 
there for ever : nor would it perhaps be very easy 
to show the absurdity of this answer. But suppose 
I had found a watch upon the ground, and it Should 
be inquired hovv the watch happened to be in that 
place ; I should hardly think of the answer which 
I had before given, that, for any thing I knew, 
the watch might have always been there. Yet 
why should not this answer serve for the watch as 
well as for the stone ? why is it not as admissible 
in the second case, as in the first? For this reason, 
and for no other, ,viz. that, when we come to in- 
spect the watch, we perceive (what we could not 
discover in the stone) that its several parts are 
framed and put together for a purpose, e. g. that 
they are so formed and adjusted as to produce mo- 
tion, and that motion so regulated as to point out 
the hour of the day; that, if the different parts had 
been differently shaped from what they are, of a 
different size from what they are, or placed after 
any other manner, or in any other order, than that 
in which they are placed, either no motion at all 
would have been carried on in the machine, or none 
which would have answered the use that is now 
served by it. To reckon up a i:e\v of the plainest 
of these parts, and of their offices, all tending to 
one result : — We see a cylindrical box containing a 
coiled elastic spring, which, by its endeavour t o 
relax itself, turns round the box. We next observe 
a flexible chain (artificially wrought for the sake of 



10 STATE OF 

flexure,) communicating the action of the spring 
from the box to the fusee. We then find a series 
of wheels, the teeth of which catch in,, and apply to 
<?ach other, conducting the motion from the fusee tu 
the balance, and from the balance to the pointer ; 
and at the same time, by the size and shape of those 
wheels so regulating that motion, as to terminate 
in causing an index, by an equable and measured 
progression, to pass over a given space in a given 
rime. We take notice that the wheels are made of 
brass in order to keep them from rust ; the springs 
of steel, no other metal being so elastic ; that over 
the face of the watch there is placed a glass, a ma- 
terial employed in no other part of the work, but in 
the room of which, if there had been any other than 
a transparent substance, the hour could* not be seen 
without opening the case. This mechanism being 
observed, (it requires indeed an examination of the 
instrument, and perhaps some previous knowledge 
of the subject, to perceive and understand it; but 
being once, as we have said, observed and under- 
stood.) the inference, we think, is inevitable, that 
rhe watch must have had a maker ; that there must 
have existed, at some time, and at some place cr 
other, an artificer or artificers, who formed it for 
the purpose which we find it actually to ansAver : 
who comprehended its construction, and designed 
Its use. 

I. Nor would it, I appreheiid, weaken the con- 
clusion, that we had never seen a watch made : 
that we had never known nn artist capable of making 
one : that we were altogether inca})able of execu- 
ting such a piece of workmanship ourselves, or of 
understanding in what manner it was performed , 
all this being no more than what is true of some 
exquisite remains of ancient art, of some lost arts, 
and, to the generality of mankind, of the more cu- 
rious productions of modern manufacture. Does 
one man in a million know how oval frames are 
turned ? Ignorance of this kind exalts our opinion 
of the unseen and unknown artist's skill, if he be 
iniseen and unknown, but raises no doubt in our 
minds of the existence and agency of such an arist, 
at some former time, and in some place or other. 
Nor can I t^erceivc that it varies at all the inference, 



THE ARGUMENT, 11 

whether the question arise concernm^ a human 
agent; or concerning an agent of a different species, 
or an agent possessing, in some respects, a different 
nature. 

II. Neither, secondly, would it invalidate our 
conclusion, that the watch sometimes went wrong, 
or that it seldom went exactly right. The purpose 
of the machinery, the design and the designer, 
might be evident, and in the case supposed woula 
be evident, in whatever way we accounted for the 
irregularity of the movement, or whether we could 
account for it or not. It is not necessary that a ma* 
chine be perfect, in order to show with what design 
it was made ; still less necessary, where the only 
question is, whether it were made with any design 
at all. 

III. Nor, thirdly, would it bring any uncertainty 
into the argument, if there were a few parts of the 
watch, concerning which we could not discover, or 
had not yet discovered, in what manner they con- 
ducted to the general effect ; or even some parts, 
concerning which we could not ascertain, whether 
they conducted to that effect in any manner what- 
ever. For, as to the first branch of the case ; if by 
the loss, or disorder, or decay, of the parts in ques- 
tion, the movement of the watch were found in fact 
to be stopped, or disturbed, or retarded, no doubt 
would remain in bur minds as to the utility or in- 
tention of these parts, although we should be una= 
ble to investigate the manner according to which/ 
or the connexion by which, the ultimate effect de- 
pended upon their action or assistance ; and the 
more complex is the machine, the more likely is 
this obscurity to arise. Then, as to the second 
thing supposed, namely, that there were parts 
which might be spared, without prejudice to the 
movement of the watch, and that we had proved this 
by experiment, — these superfluous parts, even if 
we were completely assured that they were such, 
would not vacate the reasoning which we had in- 
stituted concerning other parts. The indication of 
contrivance remained, with respect to thera, nearly 
as it was before. 

IV. Nor, fourthly, would any man in his senses 
t.ljink the existence of the watch, with its various 



V2 STATE OF 

machinery, accounted for, by being told that it was 
one out of possible combinations of material forms ; 
that whatever he had found in the place where he 
found the watch, must have contained some inter- 
nal configuration or other ; and that this configura- 
tion might be the structure now exhibited, viz. of 
the works of a watch, as well as a different struc- 
ture. 

V. Nor, fifthly, would it yield his inquiry more 
satisfaction to be answered, that there existed in 
things a principle of order, which had disposed the 
parts of the watch into their present form and situa- 
tion. He never knew a watch made by the princi- 
ple of order ; nor can he even form to himself an 
idea of what is meant by a principle of order, 
distinct from the intelligence of the watchmaker. 

VI. Sixthly, he would be surprised to hear that 
the mechanism of the watch was no proof of contri- 
vance, only a motive to induce the mind to think so. 

VII. And not less surprised to be informed, that 
the watch in his hand was nothing more than the 
result of the laws of metallic nature. It is a perver-J 
sion of language to assign any law, as the efficient^,^ 
operative cause of any thing. A law presuppose^! 
&n agent ; for it is only the mode, according taj 
which an agent proceeds : it implies a power ; foil 
it is the order, according to which that power acts.J 
Without this agent, without this power, which are 
both distinct from itself, the law does nothing ; ie| 
nothing. The expression, "the law of metallic nan^ 
ture," may sound strange and harsh to a philosophic ' 
ear ; but it seems quite as justifiable as some others 
which are more familiar to him, such as " the law 
of vegetable nature,'^ '' the law of animal nature," 
or indeed as " the law of nature," in general, when 
assigned as the cause of phenomena, in exclusion 
of agency and power ; or when it is substituted into 
the place of these. 

VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer be 
driven out of his conclusion, or from his confidence 
in its truth, by being told that he knows nothing at 
all about the matter. He knows enough for his ar- 
gument : he knows the utility of the end ; he knows 
the subserviency and adaptation of the means to 
the end. These points being known; hi& ignorance 



THE ARGUMENT. 13 

of other points, his doubts concerning other points, 
affect not the certainty of his reasoning. The con- 
sciousness of knowing little, need not beget a dis- 
trust of that which he does know. 



CHAP. H. 

State of the argument continued. 
Suppose, in the next place, that the person who 
found the watch, should, after some time, discover 
that, in addition to all the properties which he had 
hitherto observed in it, it possessed the unexpect- 
ed property of producing, in the course of its move- 
ment, another watch like itself ; (the thing is con- 
ceivable ;) that it contained within it a mechanism, 
a system of parts, a mould for instance, or a com- 
plex adjustment of lathes, jfiles, and other tools, evi- 
dently and separately calculated for this purpose ; 
let us inquire, what effect ought such a discovery 
to have upon his former conclusion. 

I. The first effect would be to increase his admi- 
ration of the contrivance, and his conviction of the 
consummate skill of tht contriver. Whether he 
regarded the object of the contrivance, the distinct 
apparatus, the mtricate, yet in many parts intelli- 
gible mechanism, by which it was carried on, he 
would perceive, in this new observation, nothing 
but an additional reason for doing what he had al- 
ready done — for referring the construction of the 
watch to design, and to supreme art. If that con- 
struction without this property, or, which is the* 
same thing, before this property had been noticed, 
proved intention and art to have been employed 
about it ; still more strong would the proof ap- 
pear, when he came to the knowledge of this far- 
ther property, the crown and perfection of all the 
rest. 

II. He would reflect, that though the watch be- 
fore him were, in some sense, the maker of the watch 
which was fabricated in the course of its move- 
ments, yet it was in a very different sense from 
that in which a carpenter, for instance, is the 
maker of a chair ; the author of its contrivance, the 
(•ause of the relation of its parts to their use. With 



14 STATE OF THE 

respect to these, the first watch was no cause at 
all to the second : in no such sense as this was it 
the author of the constitution and order, either ol' 
the parts which the new watch contained, or of the 
parts by the aid and instrumentality of which it 
was produced. We might possibly say, but with 
great latitude of expression, tliat a' stream of wa- 
ter pound corn ; but no latitude of expression 
would allow us to say, no stretch of conjecture 
could lead us to think, that the stream of water 
built the mill, though it were too ancient for us to 
know who the builder was. What the stream of 
water does in the affair, is neither more nor less 
than this ; by the application of an unintelligent 
impulse to a mechanism previous!}- arranged, ar- 
ranged independently of it, and arranged by intelli- 
gence, an effect is produced, viz. the corn is ground. 
But the effect results from the arrangement. The 
force of the stream cannot be said to be the cause 
or author of the effect, still less of the arrangement. 
Understanding and plaai in the formation of the 
mill were not the less necessary, for any share 
which the water has in grinding the corn ; j'et is 
this share the same as that which the watch would 
have contributed to the production of the new- 
watch , upon the supposition assumed in the last 
section. Therefore, 

III. Though it be now no longer probable, that 
the individual watch which our observer had found, 
was made immediately by the hand of an artificer, 
yet doth not this alteration in any wise affect the 
inference, that an artificer had been originally 
employed and concerned in the production. The 
argument from design remains as it was. Marks of 
design and contrivance are no more accounted for 
now than they were before. In the same thing, we 
may ask for the cause of different properties. We 
may ask for the cause of the colour of a body, of 
its hardness, of its heat ; and these causes may be 
all different. We are now asking for the cause of 
that subserviency to a use, that relation to an end. 
which we have remarked in the watch before us. 
No answer is given to this question, by telling us 
that a preceding watch produced it. There can- 
not be design without a designer; contrivance, 



ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 15 

without a contriver ; order, without choice ; ar 
rangement, without any thing capable of arrang 
ing ; subserviency and relation to a purpose, with- 
out that which could intend a purpose ; means 
suitable to an end, and executing their office in ac- 
complishing that end, without the end ever having 
been contemplated, or the means accommodated to 
it. Arrangement, disposition of parts, subservien- 
cy of means to an end, relation of instruments to a 
use, imply the presence of intelligence and mind. 
No one, therefore, can rationally believe, that the 
insensible, inanimate watch, from which the watcii 
before us issued, was the proper cause of the me- 
chanism we so much admire in it; — could be truly 
said to have constructed the instrument, disposed 
its parts, assigned their office, determined their or- 
der, action, and mutual dependency, combined their 
several motions into one result, and that also a re- 
sult connected with the utilities of other beings. 
All these properties, therefore, are as much unac- 
counted for as they were before, 

IV. Nor is any thing gained by running the dif- 
ficulty farther back, i. e. by supposing the watch 
before us to have been produced from another 
watch, that from a former, and so on indefinitely. 
Our going back ever so far, brings us no nearer to 
the least degree of satisfaction upon the subject. 
Contrivance is still unaccounted for. We still want 
a contriver. A designing mind is neither supplied 
by this supposition, nor dispensed with. If the 
difficulty were diminished the farther we went back, 
by going back indefinitely we might exhaust it. 
Ana this is the only case to which this sort of rea- 
soning applies. Where there is a tendency, or, as 
we increase the number of terms, a continual ap- 
proach towards a limit, therey by supposing the 
number of terms to be what is called infinite, we 
may conceive the limit to be attained ; but where 
there is no such tendency, or approach, nothing is 
efiected by lengthening the series. There is no 
difference as to the point in question, (whatever 
there may be as to many points,) between one se- 
ries and another ; between a series which is finite 
and a series which is infinite. A chain composed 
of an infinite raimber of links, can no more suppor* 



U STATE OF THE 

itself, than a chain composed of a finite number of 
links. And of this we are assured, (though we 
never can have tried the experiment.) because, by 
increasing the number of links, from ten for in- 
stance toahundred, from a hundred to a thousand, 
&c. we make not the smallest approach, we observe 
not the smallest tendency, towards self-support. 
There is no difference in this respect (yet there 
may be a great difference in several respects) be- 
tween a chain of a greater or less length, between 
one chain and another, between one that is finite 
and one that is infinite. This very much resem= 
bles the case before us. The machine which we 
are inspecting demonstrates, by its construction, 
contrivance and design. Contrivance must have 
had a contriver : design, a designer ; whether the 
machine immediately proceeded from another ma- 
chine or not. That circumstance alters not the 
case. Thnt other machine may, in like manner, 
have proceeded from a former machine : nor does 
that alter the case ; contrivance must have had a 
contriver. That former one from one preceding it : 
no alteration still ; a contriver is still necessary. 
No tendency is perceived, no approach towards a 
diminution of this necessity. It is the same with 
any and every succession of these machines ; a suc- 
cession of ten, of a hundred, of a thousand ; with 
one series, as with another ; a series which is 
finite, as with a series which is infinite. Tn what- 
ever other respects they may differ, in- this they do 
not. In all equally, contrivance and design are un- 
accounted for. 

The question is not simply. How came the first 
watch into existence ? which question, it may be 
pretended, is done away by supposing the series 
of watches thus produced from one another to have 
been infinite, and consequently to have had no such 
first, for which it was necessary to provide a cause. 
This, perhaps, would have been nearly the state of 
the question, if nothing had been before us but an 
unorganized, unmechanized substance, without 
mark or indication of contrivance. It might be 
difficult to show that such substance could not have 
existed from eternity, either in succession (if it 
were possible, which! think it is not, forunorgan- 



ARGUxMENT CONTINUED. 17 

ized bodies to spring from one another.) or by in- 
dividual perpetuity. But that is not the question 
now. To suppose it to be so, is to suppose that it 
made no difference whether he had found a watch 
or a stone. As it is, the metaphysics of that ques- 
tion have no place ; for, in the watch which we are 
examining, are seen contrivance, design ; an end, 
a purpose ; means for the end, adaptation to the 
purpose. And the question which irresistibly 
presses upon our thoughts, is, whence this contri- 
vance and design ? The thing required is the in- 
tending mind, the adapting hand, the intelligence 
by which that hand was dn-ected. This question, 
this demand, is not shaken off, by increasing a^ 
number or succession of substances, destitute of 
these properties ; nor the more, by increasing that 
number to infinity. If it be said, that, upon the 
supposition of one watch being produced from an- 
other in the course of that other's movements, and 
by means of the mechanism within it, we have a 
cause for the watch in my hand, viz. the watch 
from which it proceeded . I deny, that for the de- 
sign, the contrivance, the suitableness of means to 
an end, the adaptation of instruments to a use, (all 
which we discover in the watch,) we have any 
cause whatever. It is in vain, therefore, to assign 
a series of such .causes, or to allege that a series 
may be carried back to infinity ; for I do not admit 
that we have yet any cause at all of the phenome- 
na, still less any series of causes^^wjr finite or in- 
finite. Here is contrivance, ti^Pio contriver; 
proofs of design, but no designer. 

V. Our observer would farther also reflect, that 
the maker of the watch before him, was, in truth 
and reality, the maker of every watch produced 
from it ; there being no difference, except that the 
latter manifests a more exquisite skill between the 
making of anotlier watch with his own hands, by 
the mediation of files, lathes, chisels, &c. and the 
disposing, fixing, and inserting, of these instru- 
ments, or of others equivalent to them, in the body 
of the watch already made, in such a manner as to 
form a new watch in the course of the movements 
which he had given to the old one. It is only work- 
ing by one set of tools instead of another. 



18 APPLICATION OF 

The conclusion which the Jirst examination of the 
watch, of its works, construction, and movement, 
suggested, was, that it must have had for the cause 
and author of that construction, an artificer, wlio 
understood its mechanism, and designed its use. — 
This conclusion is invincible. A second examina- 
tion presents us with a new discovery. The watcli 
is found, in the course of its movement, to produce 
another watcli, similar to itself; and not only so, 
but we perceive in it a system or organization, se- 
parately calculated for that purpose. What effect 
would this discovery have, or ought it to have, upon 
our former inference ? What, as hath already been 
said, but to increase, beyond measure, our admira 
tion of the skill which had been employed in the 
formation of such a machine ? Or shall it, instead 
of this, all at once turn us round to an opposite 
conclusion, viz. that no art or skill whatever has 
been concerned in the business, although all other 
evidences of art and skill remain as they were, and 
this last and supreme piece of art be now added to 
the rest ? Can this be maintained without absur- 
dity ? Yet this is atheism. 



i 



CHAP. III. 

Application of the argument. 

This is ath^H^ : for every indication of contri- 
vance, every iTiWifestation of design, which existed 
in the watch, exists in the works of nature ; with 
the difference, on the side of nature, of being great- 
er and more, and that in a degree which exceeds 
all computation. I mean, that the contrivances of 
nature surpass the contrivances of art, in the com- 
plexity, subtilty, and curiosity of the mechanism ; 
and still more, if possible, do they go beyond them 
in number and variety ; yet, in a muhitude of cases, 
are not less evidently mechanical, not less evidently 
contrivances, not less evidently accommodated to 
their end, or suited to their office, than are tlie most 
perfect productions of human ingenuity. 

I know no belter method of introducing so large 



THE ARGUMENT. 19 

a subject; than that of comparing a single thing with 
a single thing; an eye, for example with a tele- 
scope. As far as the examination of the instru- 
ment goes, there is precisely the same proof that 
the eye was made for vision, as there is that the te- 
lescope was made for assisting it. They are made 
upon the same principles ; both being adjusted to 
the laws by which the transmission and refraction 
of rays of light are regulated. I speak not of the 
origin of the laws themselves ; but such laws being 
fixed, the construction, in both cases, is adapted to 
them. For instance ; these laws require, in order 
to produce the same effect, that the rays of light, in 
passing from water into the eye, should be refract- 
ed by a more convex surface, than when it passes 
out of air into the eye. Accordingly we find that 
the eye of a fish, in that part of it called the crys- 
talline lens, is much rounder than the eye of ter- 
restrial animals. What plainer manifestation of 
design can there be than this difference ? What 
could a mathematical instrument-maker have done 
more, to show his knowledge of his principle, his 
application to that knowledge, his suiting of his 
means to his end ; I will not say to display the 
compass or excellence of his skill and art, for in 
these all comparison is indecorous, but to testify 
counsel, choice, consideration, purpose ? 

To some it may appear a difierence sufficient to 
destroy all similitude between the eye and the tele- 
scope, that the one is a perceiving organ, the other 
an unperceiving instrument. The fact is, that they 
are both instruments. And, as to the mechanism, 
at least as to mechanism being employed, and even 
as to the kind of it, this circumstance varies not the 
analogy at all. For, observe what the constitution 
of the eye is. It is necessary, in order to produce 
distinct vision, that an image or picture of the ob- 
ject be formed at the bottom of the eye. Whence 
this necessity arises, or how the picture is connect- 
ed with the sensation, or contributes to it, it may 
be difficult, nay, we will confess, if you please, im- 
possible for us to search out. But the present ques«^ 
tion is not concerned in the inquiry. It may be 
true, that, in this, and in other instances, we trace 
mechamcal contrivance a certain wa^ : and that 



20 APPLICATION OF 

then we come to something which is not mechanical, 
or which is inscrutable. But this affects not the 
certainty of our investigation, as far as we have 
gone. The difference between an animal and an 
automatic statue, consists in this — that, in the ani- 
mal, we trace the mechanism to a certain point, 
and then we are stopped ; either the mechanism be- 
coming loo subtile for our discernment, or some- 
thing else beside the known laws of mechanism 
taking place ; whereas, in the automaton, for the 
comparatively few motions of which it is capable, 
we trace the mechanism throughout. But, up to 
the limit, the reasoning is as clear and certain in 
the one case as in the other. In the exarnple before 
us, it is a matter which experience and observation 
demonstrate, that the formation of an image at the 
bottom of the eye is necessary to perfect vision. — 
The image itself can be shown. Whatever affects 
the distinctness of the image, affects the distinct- 
ness of the vision. The formation then of such an 
image being necessary (no matter how) to the sense 
of sight, and to the exercise of that sense, the ap- 
paratus by which it is formed is constructed and 
put together, not only with infinitely more art, but 
upon the self-same principle of art, as in the tele- 
scope or the camera obscura. The perception 
arising from the image may be laid out of the ques- 
tion ; for the production of the image, there are in- 
struments of the same kind. The end is the same ; 
the means are the same. The purpose in both is 
alike ; the contrivance for accomplishing that pur- 
pose is in both alike. The lenses of the telescope, 
and the humour of the eye, bear a complete resem- 
blance to one another, in their figure, their position, 
and in their power over the rays of light, viz. in 
bringing each pencil to a point at the right distance 
from the lens ; namely, in the eye, at the exact 
place where the membrane is spread to receive it. 
How is it possible, under circumstances of such 
close affinity, and under the operation of equal evi- 
dence, to exclude contrivance from the one, yet to 
acknowledge the proof of contrivance having been 
♦ mployed, as the plainest and clearest of all propo- 
sitions, in the other ? 
The resemblance between the two cases is still 



THE ARGUMENT, £1 

more accurate, and obtains in more points than we 
have yet represented, or than we are, on the first 
view of the subject, aware of. In dioptric tele- 
scopes, there is an imperfection of this nature. Pen- 
cils of light, in passing through glass lenses, are 
separated into different colours, thereby tinging the 
object, especially the edges of it, as if it were view- 
ed through a prism. To correct this inconvenience 
had been long a desideratum in the art. At last it 
came into the mind of a sagacious optician, to in- 
quire how this matter was managed in the eye ; in 
which there was exactly the same difficulty to con- 
tend with as in the telescope. His observation 
taught him, that, in the eye, the evil was cured by 
combining lenses composed of different substances, 
i.e. of substances which possessed different refract- 
ing powers. Our artist borrowed thence his hint ; 
and produced a correction of the defect, by imita- 
ting, in glasses made from different materials, the 
effects of the different humours through which the 
rays of light pass before they reach the bottom of 
the eye. Could this be in the eye without purpose, 
which suggested to the optician the only effectual 
means of attaining that purpose ? 

But farther ; there are other points, not so much 
perhaps of strict resemblance between the two, as 
of superiority of the eye over the telescope ; yet 
of a superiority which, being founded in the laws 
that regulate both, may furnish topics of fair and 
just comparison. Two things were wanted to the 
eye, which were not wanted (at least in the same 
degree) to the telescope; and these were, the 
adaptation of the organ, first, to different degrees 
of Hght ; and, secondly, to the vast diversity of 
distance at which objects are viewed by the naked 
eye, viz, from a few inches to as many miles. 
These difficulties present not themselves to the 
maker of the telescope. He wants all the light he 
can get ; and he never directs his instrument to 
objects near at hand. In the eye, both these cases 
were to be provided for ; and for the purpose of 
providing for them a subtile and appropriate me- 
chanism is introduced : 

I. In order to exclude excess of light, when it is 
excessive, and to render objects visible under ob- 



^2 APPLICATION OF 

scurer degrees of It, when no more can be had, 
the hole or aperture in the eye, through which 
the light enters, is so formed; as to contract or 
dilate itself for the purpose of admitting a greater 
or less number of rays at the same time. The 
chamber of the eye is a camera obscura, which, 
when the light is too small, can enlarge its open- 
ing ; when too strong, can again contract it ; and 
that without any other assistance than that of its 
own exquisite machinery. It is farther also, in the 
human subject, to be observed, that this hole in the 
eye which we call the pupil, under all its different 
dimensions, retains its exact circular shape. This 
is a structure extremely artificial. Let an artist 
only try to execute the same ; he will find that his 
threads and strings must be disposed with great 
consideration and contrivance, to make a circle, 
which shall contiually change its diameter, yet 
preserve its form. This is done in the eye by an 
application of fibres, i. e, of strings, similar, in 
their position and action, to what an artist would 
and must employ, if he had the same piece of 
workmanship to perform. 

II. The second difficulty which has been stated , 
was the suiting of the same organ to the percep- 
tion of objects that lie near at hand, within a few 
inches, we will suppose, of the eye, and of objects 
which are placed at a considerable distance from 
it, that, for example, of as many furlongs (I speak 
in both cases of the distance at which distinct vi- 
sion can be exercised.) Now this, according to 
the principles of optics, that is, according to the 
laws by which the transmission of light is regulat- 
ed, (and these laws are fixed,) could not be done 
without the organ itself undergoing an alteration, 
and receiving an adjustment, that might correspond 
with the exigency of the case, that is to say, with 
the different inclination to one another under which 
the rays of light reached it. Rays issuing from 
points placed at a small distance from the eye, and 
>vhich consequently must enter the eye in a spread- 
ing or divergmg order, cannot, by the optical in- 
strument in the same state, be brought to a pointy 
i. e. be made to form an image, in the same place 
with rays proceeding from objects situated at a 



THE ARGUi^IEiNT, 23 

niuoii greater distance, and which rays arrive at 
the eye in directions nearly (and physically speak, 
\ng) parallel. It requires a rounder lens to do it" 
The point of concourse behind the lens must fall 
critically upon tiie retina, or the vision is confus- 
ed ; yet; other things remaining the same, this 
point, by the immutable properties of light, is car- 
ried farther back when the rays proceed from a 
near object, than when they are sent from one that 
is remote. A person who was using an optical in- 
strument, would manage this matter by changing, 
us the occasion required, his lens or his telescope : 
ur b^KJ^isting the distance of his glasses with his 
hanc^r nis screw : but how is it to be managed in 
the eye ? What the alteration was, or in what part 
of the eye it took place, or by what means it was 
fflected, (for if the known laws which govern the 
refraction of light be maintained, some alteration 
in the state of the organ there must be,) had long 
formed a subject of inquiry and conjecture. The 
i-hange, though sufficient for the purpose, is so mi- 
nute as to elude ordinary observation. Some very 
late discoveries, deduced from a laborious and 
most accurate inspection of the structure and ope- 
ration of the or^an, seem at length to have ascer- 
tained the mecnanical alteration which the parts 
of the eye undergo. It is found, that by the action 
of certain muscles, called the straight muscles, and 
which action is the most advantageous that could 
be imagined for the purpose, — it is found, I say, 
that whenever the eye is directed to a near object, 
three changes are produced in it at the same time, 
all severally contributing to the adjustment requir- 
ed. The cornea, or outermost coat of the eye, is 
rendered more round and prominent ; the crystal- 
line lens underneath is pushed forward; and the 
axis of vision, as the depth of the eye is called, is 
elongated. These changes in the eye vary its 
power over the rays of light in such a manner and 
degree as to nroduce exactly the effect which is 
wanted, viz^ tlie formation of an image upon the 
rdinay whether the rays come to the eye in a state 
of divergency, which is the case when the object is 
near to the eye, or come parallel to one another, 
\\}iich is the case when the object is placed at n 



'^i APPLICATION OF 

dktance. Can any thing be more decisive of coii- 
trivance than this' is ? The most secret laws oi 
optics must have been known to the author of a 
structure endowed with such a capacity of change. 
It is as though an optician, when he had a nearer 
object to view, should rectify his instrument by 
putting in another glass, at the same time drawing 
out also his tube to^a different length. 

Observe a new-born child first lifting up its eye- 
lids. What does the opening of the curtain dis- 
cover ? The anterior part of the two pellucid 
globes, which, when they come to be examined, are 
Found to be constructed upon strict optical m-inci- 
ples ; the self-same principles upon whicn \" our- 
selves construct optical instruments. We find them 
perfect for the purpose of forming an ima^e by re- 
fraction ; composed of parts executing different of- 
fices : one part having fulfilled its ofiice upon the 
pencil of light, delivering it over to the action of 
another part ; that to a third, and so onward ; the 
progressive action depending for its success upon 
the nicest and minutest adjustment of the parts 
concerned ; yet these parts so in fact adjusted, a- 
to produce, not by a simple action or effect, but by 
a combination of actions and effects, the result 
which is ultimately wanted. And forasmuch as 
this organ would have to operate under different - 
circumstances, with strong degrees of light, and 
with weak degrees, upon near objects, and upon 
remote ones ; and these differences demanded, ac- 
cording to the laws by which the transmission of 
light is regulated, a corresponding diversity of 
structure ; that the aperture, for example, through 
which the light passes, should be larger or less; 
the lenses rounder or flatter, or that their distance 
from the tablet, upon which the picture is delinea- 
ted, should be shortened or lengthened : this, I say, 
being the case, and the difficulty to which the eye 
was to be adapted, we find its several parts capa- 
ble of being occasionally changed, and a most arti- 
ficial apparatus provided to produce that change. 
This is far beyond the common regulator of a 
watch, which requires the touch of a foreign hand 
to set it ; but it is not altogether unlike Harrison's 
t'ontrivance for making a watch regulate itself, by 



THE ARGUMENT. S5 

inserting within it a machinery, which, by the art- 
ful use of the different expansion of metals, pre- 
serves the equabihty of the motion under all the va- 
rious temperatures of heat and cold in which the in^ 
strument may happen to be placed. ^ The ingenui- 
ty of this last contrivance has been justly praised. 
Shall, therefore, a structure which differs from it, 
chiefly by surpassing it, be accounted no contri- 
vance at all ? or, if it be a contrivance, that it is 
without a contriver ! 

But this, though much, is not the whole : by dif* 
ferent species of animals the faculty we are describe 
ing is possessed, in degrees suited to the different 
ran^e of vision which their mode of life, and of pro- 
curing their food, requires. Birds, for instance, in 
general, procure their food by means of their beak ; 
and, the distance between the eye and the point of 
the beak being small, it becomes necessary that 
they should have the power of seeing very near ob- 
jects distinctly. On the other hand, from being 
often elevated much above the ground, living in air, 
and moving through it with great velocity, they re- 
quire, for their safety, as well as for assisting them 
in descrying their prey, a power of seeing at a 
great distance ; a power of which, in birds of ra- 
pine, surprising examples are given. The fact ac' 
cordingl}^ is that two peculiarities are found in the 
eyes of birds, both tending to facilitate the change 
upon which the adjustment of the eye to different 
distances depends. The one is a bony, yet, in 
most species, a flexible rim or hoop, surrounding 
the broadest part of the eye ; which, confining the 
action of the muscles to that part, increases the ef- 
fect of their lateral pressure upon the orb, by which 
pressure its axis is elongated for the purpose of 
looking at very near objects. The other is an ad- 
ditional muscle, called the marsupium, to draw, on 
occasion, the crystalline lens back, and to fit the 
same eye for the viewing of very distant objects. 
By these means, the eyes of birds can pass from 
one extreme to another of their scale of adjustment, 
with more ease and readiness than the eyes of 
other animals. 

The eyes of Jishes also, compared with those of 
terrestrial animals, exhibit certain distinctions of 



S6 APPLICATION OF 

structure, adapted to their state and element. W ( 
have already observed upon the figure of the crystal- 
line compensating by its roundness the density of 
the medium through which their light passes. To 
which we have to add, that the eyes offish, in their 
natural and indolent state, appear to be adjusted tu 
near objects, in this respect differing from the hu- 
man eye, as well as those of quadrupeds and birds. 
The ordinary shape of the fish's eye being in a 
much higher degree convex than that of land ani- 
mals, a correspondmg difference attends its muscu- 
lar conformation, viz. that it is throughout calcula- 
ted iox Jiattening the eye. 

The iris also in the eyes of fish does not admit of 
contraction. This is a great difference, of which 
the probable reason is, that the diminished light in 
water is never too strong for the retina. 

In the eel, which has to work its head through 
sand and gravel, the roughest and hardest substan- 
ces, there is placed before the eye, and at some dis- 
tance from it, a transparent, horny, convex case or 
covering, which, without obstructing the sight, de- 
fends the organ. To such an animal, could any 
thing be more wanted, or more useful ? 

Thus, in comparing the eyes of different kinds of 
animals, we see, in their resemblances and distinc- 
tions, one general plan laid down, and that plan va- 
ried with the varying exigencies to which it is to be 
applied. 

There is one property, however, common, I be- 
lieve, to all eyes, at least to all which have been ex- 
amined,^ namely, that the optic nerve enters the 
bottom of the eye, not in the centre or middle, but 
a little on one side ; not in the point where the axis 
of the eye meets the retina, but between that point 
and the nose. The difference which this makes is, 
that no part of an object is unperceived by both 
eyes at the same time. 

In considering vision as achieved by the means 
of an image formed at the bottom of the eye, we 
can never reflect without wonder upon the small- 
ness, yet correctness, of the picture, the subtilty of 
the touch, the fineness of the lines. A landscape 

* The eye of the teal or sea-calf, I understand, is an exception ; 
Mem. Ac»d. Parii, 1701, p. 123. 



THE ARGUMENT. 27 

uf five or SIX square leagues is brought into a space 
nf half an inch diameter; yet the muhitude of ob- 
jects which it contains, are all preserved ; are all 
discriminated in their magnitudes, positions, 
ii/^ures, colours. The prospect from Hampstead- 
hill is compressed into the compass of a sixpence^, 
yet circumstantially represented. A stage-coach^ 
travelling at its ordinary speed for half an hour, 
passes, in the eye, only over one twelfth of an inch, 
yet is this change of place in the image distinctly 
perceived throughout the whole progress ; for it is 
only by means of that perception that the motion 
of the coach itself is made sensible to the eye. If 
any thin^ can abate our admiration of the small- 
ness of this visual tablet compared with the extent 
of vision, it is the reflection which the view of na- 
ture leads us, every hour, to make, viz. that in the 
hands of the Creator, great and little are nothing. 

Sturmius held, that the examination of the eye 
was a cure for atheism. Besides that conformity 
to optical principles which its internal constitution 
displays, and which alone amounts to a manifesta- 
tion of intelligence having been exerted in the struc- 
ture ; besides this, which forms, no doubt, the lead- 
ing character of the organ, there is tO' be seen, in 
every thing belonging to it and about it, an extra- 
ordinary degree of care, an anxiety for its preser- 
vation, due, if we may so speak, to its value audits 
tenderness. It is lodged in a strong, deep, bony 
socket, composed by the junction of seven different 
hones, *^ hollowed out at their edges. In some few 
species, as that of the coatimondi,t the orbit is rot 
})ony throughout ; but whenever this is the case, 
the upper, which is the deficient pait, is supplied 
by a cartilaginous ligament ; a substitution which 
sliows the same care. Within this socket it is im- 
bedded in fat, of all animal substances the best 
adapted both to its repose and motion. It is shel- 
tered by the eye-brows; an arch of hair, which, 
like a thatched penthouse, prevents the sweat and 
moisture of the forehead from running down into it. 
But it is still better protected by hs lid. Of the 
superficial parts of the animal frame, I know none 

■*■ Ilejiter, 8«ct. 8?. t -'^lem. R. Ac. Paris, p. UT. 



28 APPLICATION OF 

which, m its office and structure, is more deserving 
of attention than the eyelid. It defends the eye; it 
wipes it; it closes it in sleep. Are there, in an}' 
work of art whatever, purposes more evident than 
those which this organ fulfils ? or an apparatus for 
executing those purposes more intelligible, more 
appropriate, or more mechanical ? If it be overlook- 
ed by the observer of nature, it can only be because 
it is obvious and familiar, Thif- is a tendency to be 
guarded against. We pass by the plainest instan- 
ces, whilst we are exploring those which are rare 
and curious; by which conduct of the understand- 
ing, we sometimes neglect the strongest observa- 
tions, being taken up with others, which though 
more recondite and scientific, are, as solid argu- 
ments, entitled to much less consideration. 

In order to keep the eye moist and clean (which 
qualities are necessary to its brightness and its 
use,) a wash is constantly supplied by a secretion 
for the purpose; and the superfluous brine is con- 
veyed to the nose through a perforation in the bone 
as large as a goose-quill. When once the fluid has 
entered the nose, it spreads itself upon the inside 
of the nostril, and is evaporated by the current of 
warm air, vhich, in the course of respiration, is 
continually passing over it. Can any pipe or out- 
let, for carrying off the waste liquor from a die- 
house or a distillery, be more mechanical than this 
is ? It is easily perceived, that the eye must want 
moisture : but could the want of the eye generate 
the gland which produces the tear, or bore the 
hole by which it is discharged, — a hole through a 
bone ? 

It is observable, that this provision is not found 
in fish, — the element in which they live supplying 
a constant lotion to the eye. 

It were, however, injustice to dismiss the eye as 
apiece of mechanism, without noticing that most 
exquisite of all contrivances, the nictitating mem- 
Ara/it", which is found in the eyes of birds and of 
many (quadrupeds. Its use is to sweep the eye, 
which it does in an instant, to spread over it the 
jachrymal humour ; to defend it also from sudden 
injuries ; yet not totally, when drawn upon the pu- 
pil, to shut cut the light. The cQmmodiou==nc5s 



THE ARGUMENT. 29 

with which it lies folded up in the upper corner of 
the eye, ready for use and action^ and the quickness 
with which it executes its purpose, are properties 
known and obvious to every observer ; but what is 
equally admirable, though not quite so obvious, is 
the combination of two kinds of substance, muscular 
and elastic, and of two different kinds of action, by 
which the motion of this membrane is performed. 
It is not, as in ordinary cases, by the action of two 
antagonist muscles, one pulling forward and the 
other backward, that a reciprocal change is effect- 
ed ; but it is thus : The membrane itself is an elas- 
tic substance, capable of being drawn out by force 
like a piece of elastic gum, and by its own elastici- 
ty returning, when the force is removed, to its for- 
mer position. Such being its nature, in order to 
fit it up for its office, it is connected by a tendon or 
thread with a muscle in the back part of the eye : 
this tendon or thread, though strong, is so fine as 
not to obstruct the sight, even wnen it passes 
across it ; and the muscle itself, being placed in the 
back part of the eye, derives from its situation the 
advantage, not only of being secure, but of being 
out of the way ; which it would hardly have been 
in any position that could be assigned to it in the 
anterior part of the orb, where its function lies. 
When the muscle behind the eye contracts, the 
membrane, by means of the communicating thread, 
is instantly drawn over the fore-part of it. When 
the muscular contraction (which is a positive, and 
most probably a voluntary effort) ceases to be ex- 
erted, the elasticity alone of the membrane brings 
it back again to its position.* Does not this, if any 
thing can do it, bespeak an artist, master of his 
work, acquainted with his materials 1 '' Of a thou- 
sand other things," say the French academicians, 
" we perceive not the contrivance, because we un- 
derstand them only by the effects, of which we 
know not the causes : but we here treat of a ma- 
chine, all the parts whereof are visible ; and which 
need only be looked upon, to discover the reasons 
of its motion and action."^ 

* Phil. Trans. 1796. 

r Memoirs for a Natural Historj of Aninjals, bj the Roj-al Aoj 



30 APPLICATION OF 

In the configuration of the muscle which, though 
placed behind the eye, draws the nictitating mem- 
brane over the eye, there is, what the authors, just 
now quoted, deservedly call a marvellous mechan- 
ism. I suppose this structure to be found in other 
animals ; but, in the memoirs from which this ac- 
count is taken, it is anatomically demonstrated only 
in the cassowary. The muscle is passed throi/gh a 
loop formed hy another muscle ; and is there inflect- 
ed, as if it were round a pulley. This is a pecu- 
liarity ; and observe the advantage of it. A single 
muscle with a straight tendon, which is the com- 
mon muscular form, would have been sufficient, if 
it had had power to draw far enough. But the 
contraction, necessary to draw the membrane over 
the whole eye, required a longer muscle than could 
lie straight at the bottom of the eye. Therefore, in 
order to have a greater length in a less compass, 
the cord of the main muscle makes an angle. This, 
so far, answers the end ; but, still farther, it makes 
and angle, not round a fixed pivot, but round a loop 
formed by, another muscle, which second muscle, 
whenever it contracts, of course twitches the first 
muscle at the point of inflection, and thereby as- 
sists the action designed by both. 

One question may possibly have dwelt in the 
reader's mind during the perusal of these observa- 
tions, namely, Why should not the Deity have 
given to the animal the faculty of vision at once? 
Why this circuitous perception ; the ministry of 
so many means ; an element provided for the pur- 
pose ; reflected from opaque substances, refracted 
through transparent ones ; and both according to 
precise laws ; then, a complex organ, an intricate 
and artificial apparatus, in order, by the operation 
of this element, and in conformity with the restric- 
tions of these laws, to produce an image upon a 
membrane communicating w ith the brain ? Where- 
lore all this ? Why make the difficulty in order to 
surmount it ? If to perceive objects by some other 

demy of Sciences at Paris, done into English hj order of the Royal 

.SocietT, 170!^ page 24?. 



THE ARGUMENT. 31 

mode than that of touch, or objects which lay out 
of the reach of that sense, were the thinff pro- 
posed ; could not a simple volition of the Cfreator 
have communicated the capacity ? Why resort to 
contrivance, where power is omnipotent ? Contri- 
vance, by its very definition and nature, is the re- 
fuge of imperfection. To have recourse to expedi- 
ents, implies difficulty, impediments, restraint, defect 
of power. This question belongs to the other 
senses, as well as to sight; to the general functions 
of animal life, as nutrition, secretion, respiration ; 
to the economy of vegetables ; and indeed to almost 
all the operations of nature. The question, there- 
fore, is of very wide extent; and amongst other 
answers which may be given to it, besides reasons 
of which probably we are ignorant, one answer is 
this : It is only by the display of contrivance, that 
the existence, the agency, the wisdom, of the Deity, 
rould be testified to his rational creatures. This is 
the scale by which we ascend to all the knowledge 
of our Creator which we possess, so far as it de- 
pends upon the phenomena, or the works of nature. 
Take away this, and you take away from us ever}' 
subject of observation, and ground of reasoning ; I 
mean as our rational faculties are formed at present. 
Whatever is done, God could have done without 
the intervention of instruments or means ; but it i3 
in the construction of instruments, in the choice 
and adaptation of means, that a creative intelli- 
gence is seen. It is this which constitutes the or- 
der and beauty of the universe. God, therefore, 
has been pleased to prescribe limits to his own 
power, and to work his ends within those limits. 
The general laws of matter have perhaps the na- 
ture of these limits ; its inertia, its reaction ; the 
laws which govern the communication of motion, 
the refraction and reflection of light, the constitu- 
tion of fluids non-elastic and elastic, the transmis- 
sion of sound through the latter ; the laws of mag- 
netism, of electricity ; and probably others, yet un- 
discovered. These are general laws ; and when a 
particular purpose is to be effected, it is not by 
making a new law, nor by the suspension of the 
old ones, nor by making them wind, and bend, and 
yield to the occasion ; (for nature'vvith great steadi- 



32 APPLICATION OP 

ness adheres to and supports them ;) but it is, a? 
we have seen in the eye, by the interposition of an 
apparatus, corresponding with these laws, and 
suited to the exigency which results from them, 
that the purpose is at length attained. As we have 
said, therefore, God prescribes limits to his power 
that he may let in the exercise, and thereby ex- 
hibit demonstrations of his wisdom. For then i. e. 
such laws and limilations being laid down, it is as 
though one Being should have fixed certain rules ; 
and, if we may so speak, provided certain materi- 
als ; and, afterward, have committed to another Be- 
ing, out of these materials, and in subordination to i 
these rules, the task of drawing forth a creation : j 
a supposition which evidently leaves room, and in- j 
duces indeed a necessity, for contrivance. Nay, I 
there may be many such agents, and many ranks ' 
of these. We do not advance this as a doctrine 
either of philosophy or of religion : but we say 
that the subject may safely be represented under 
this view, because the Deity, acting himself by ge- 
neral laws, will have the same consequences upon 
our reasoning, as if he had prescribed these laws 
to another. It has been said, that the problem of 
creation was, " attraction and matter being given, 
to make a world out of them :'' and, as above ex- 
plained, this statement perhaps does not convey a 
false idea. 

We have made choice of the eye as an instance 
upon which to rest the argument of this chapter. 
Some single example was to be proposed : and the 
eye offered itself under the advantage of admitting 
of a strict comparison with optical instruments. 
The ear, it is probable, is no less artificially and 
mechanically adapted to its office, than the eye. 
But we know less about it : we do not so well un- 
derstand the action, the use, or the mutual depen- 
dency, of its internal parts. Its general form, how- 
ever, both external and internal, is sufficient to 
show that it is an instrument adapted to the recep- 
tion of sound; that is to say, already knowing that 
sound consists in pulses of the air, we perceive, in 
the structure of the ear, a suitableness to receive 
impressions from this species of action, and to pro- 
pagate these impressions to the brain. For of 



THE ARGUMENT, 33 

what does this structure consist ? An external ear 
(the concha,) calculated, like an ear-trumpet, to 
catch and collect the pulses of which we have spo- 
ken; in large quadrupeds, turning to the sound, 
and possessing a configuratioji, as well as motion, 
evidently fitted for the office : of a tube which leads 
into the head, lying at the root of this outward ear, 
the folds and sinuses thereof tending and conduct- 
ing the air towards it : of a thin membrane, like the 
pelt of a drum, stretched across this passage upon 
a bony rim : of a chain of moveable, and infinitely 
curious, bones, forming a communication, and the 
only communication that can be observed, between 
the membrane last mentioned and the interior 
channels and recesses of the skull : of cavities, 
similar in shape and form to wind instruments of 
music, being spiral or portions of circles : of the 
eustachian tube, like the hole in a drum, to let the 
air pass freely into and out of the barrel of the ear, 
as the covering membrane vibrates, or as the tem- 
perature may be altered : the whole labyrinth hewn 
. out of a rock ; that is. wrought into the substance 
of the hardest bone of the body. This assemblage 
of connected parts constitutes together an appa- 
ratus, plainly enough relative to the transmission, 
of sound, or of thp impulses received from sound^'^ 
and only to be lamented in not being better under" 
stood. 

The communication within, formed by the smolJ 
bones of the ear, is, to look upon, more like what 
we are accustomed to call machinery, than any 
thing I am acquainted with in animal bodies. It 
seems evidently designed to continue towards the 
sensorium the tremulous motions which are excited 
in the membrane of the tympanum, or what is bet- 
ter known by the name of the " drum of the ear.'* 
The compages of bones consists of four, which are 
so disposed, and so hinge upon one another, as 
that if the membrane, the drum of the ear, vibrate, 
all the four are put in motion together ; and, by 
the result of their action, work the base of that 
which is the last in the series, upon an aperture 
which it closes, and upon which it plays, and 
which aperture opens into the tortuous canals that 
lead to the brim. This last bone of the four is call- 
3 



rf4 APPLICATION OF 

ed the stapes. The office of the drum of the ear is 
to spread out an extended surface, capable of re- 
ceiving the impressions of sound, and of being put 
by tliem into a state of vibration. The office of the 
stapes is to repeat these vibrations. It is a repeat- 
ing frigate, stationed more within the line. From 
which account of its action may be understood, 
how the sensation of sound will be excited by any 
thing which communicates a vibratory motion to 
the stapes, though not, as in all ordinary cases, 
through the intervention of tlie membrana tympani. 
This is done by solid bodies applied to the bones 
of the skull, as by a metal bar holden at one end 
between the teeth, and touching at the otiier end a 
tremulous body. It likewise appears to be done, 
in a considerable degree, by the air itself, even 
when this membrane, the drum o{ the ear, is great- 
ly damaged. Either in the natural or preterna- 
tural state of the organ, the use of the chain of 
bones is to propagate the impulse in a direction to- 
wards the brain, and to propagate it with the ad- 
vantage of a lever ; which advantage consists in 
increasing the force and strength of the vibration, 
and at the same time diminishing the space through 
^ which it oscillates ; both of which changes may 
augment or facilitate the still deeper action of the 
auditory nerves. 

The benefit of the eustachian tube to the organ, 
may be made out upon known pneumatic princi- 
ples. Behind the drum of the ear is a second cavi- 
ty, or barrel, called the tympanum. The eusta- 
chian tube is a slender pipe, but sufficient for the 
passage of air, leading from this cavity into the 
hack part of the mouth. Now, it would not have 
done to have had a vacuum in this cavity ; for, in 
that case, the pressure of the atmosphere from 
%vithout would have burst the membrane which co- 
vered it. Nor would it have done to have filled the 
cavity with lymph or any other secretion ; which 
would necessarily have obstructed both the vibra- 
tion of the membrane and the play of the smalt 
bones. Nor, lastly, would it have done to have oc- 
•^upied the space with confined air, because the ex- 
pansion of that air by heat, or its contraction by 
cold, would have distended or relaxed the covering 



THE ARGUMENT. 35 

!nembrane, in a degree inconsistent with the pur- 
pose which it was assigned to execute. The only 
remaining expedient, and that for which the eusta- 
chian tube serves, is to open to this cavity a com- 
munication with the external air. In one word ; 
it exactly answers the purpose of the hole in a 
drum. 

The membrana tympani itself likewise, deserves 
all the examination which can be made of it. It is 
not found in the ears of fish , which furnishes an 
additional proof of what indeed is indicated by 
every thing about it, that it is appropriated to the 
action of air, or of an elastic medium. It bears an 
obvious resemblance to the pelt or head of a drum, 
from which it takes its name. It resembles also a 
drum -head in this principal property, that its use 
depends upon its tension. Tension is the state es- 
sential to it. Now wp know tliat, in a drum, the 
pelt is carried over a hoop, and braced as occasion 
requires, by the means of strings attached to its 
circumference. In the membrane of the ear, the 
same purpose is provided for, more simply, but not 
less mechanically, nor less successfully, by a dif- 
ferent expedient, viz. by the end of a bone (the 
handle of the malleus) pressing upon its centre. It 
is only in very large animals that the texture of 
this membrane can be discerned. In the Philoso- 
phical Transactions for the year 1800, (vol. i.) 
Mr. Everard Home has given some curious obser- 
vations upon the ear, and the drum of the ear of an 
elephant. He discovered in it, what he calls a ra- 
diated muscle, that is, straight muscular fibres, 
passing along the membrane from the circumfe- 
rence to the centre ; from the bony rim which sur- 
rounds it towards the handle of the malleus to 
which the central part is attached. This muscle 
he supposes to be designed to bring the membrane 
into unison with different sounds : but then he also 
discovered, that this muscle itself cannot act, un- 
less the membrane be drawn to a stretch, and kept 
in a due state of tightness, by what may be called 
a. foreign force, viz. the action of the muscles of 
, the malleus. Supposing his explanation of the use 
of the parts to be just, our author is well founded 
in the reflection which be makes upon it, '^ that 



36 OF THE SUCCESSION OF 

this mode of adapting the ear to different sounds, iif 
one of the most beautiful applications of muscles in 
the body : the mechanism is so siiwple, and the variety 
of effects so great J ^ 

In another volume of the Transactions above re- 
ferred to, and of the same year, two most curious 
cases are related, of persons who retained the sense 
of hearing, not in a perfect, but in a very considerable 
degree, notwithstanding the almost total loss of the 
membrane we have been describing. In one of 
these cases, the use here assigned to that mem- 
brane, of modifying the impressions of sound by 
change of tension, was attempted to be supphed by 
straining the muscles of the outward ear. '' The 
external ear,^' we are told, "■ had acquired a distinct 
motion upward and backward, whicn was observa- 
ble whenever the patient listened to any thing 
which he did not distinctly hear ; when he was ad- 
dressed in a whisper, the ear was seen immediate- 
ly to move ; when the tone of voice was louder, it 
then remained altogether motionless." 

It appears probable from both these cases, that 
a collateral, if not principal, use of the membrane, 
is to cover and protect the barrel of the ear which 
lies behind it. Both the patitnts suffered from 
cold : one, '' a great increase of deafness from 
catching cold ;" the other, " very considerable pain 
from exposure to a stream of cold air." Bad effects 
therefore followed from this cavity being left open 
to the external air ; yet, had the Author of nature 
shut it up by any other cover, than what was ca- 
pable, by its texture, of receiving vibrations from 
sound, and, by its connexion with the interior parts, 
of transmitting those vibrations to the brain, the 
use of the organ, so far as we can judge, must have 
been entirely obstructed. 



CHAP. IV. 

Of the succession of plants and animals. 
The generation of the animal no more accounts 
for the contrivance of the eje or ear. than, upon the 
supposition stated in a preceding cnapter. the pro- 



PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 3; 

duction of a walch by the motion and mechanism 
of a former watch, would account for the skill and 
intention evidenced in the watch so produced ; than 
it would account for the disposition of the wheels, 
the catching of their teeth, the relation of the seve- 
ral parts of the works to one another, and to their 
common end ; for the suitableness of their forms 
and places to their offices, for their connexion, their 
operation, and the useful result of that operation. 
I do insist most strenuously upon the correctness 
of this comparison ; that it holds as to every mode 
of specific propagation ; and that whatever was 
true of the watch, under the hypothesis above men- 
tioned, is true of plants and anii]jals. 

I. To begin with the fructification of plants. 
Can it be doubted but that the seed contains a par- 
ticular organization ? Whether a latent plantule 
with the means oftemporary nutrition, or whatever 
else it be, it incloses an organization suited to the 
germination of a new plant. Has the plant which 
produced the seed any thing more to do with ihat 
-organization, than the watch would have had to do 
with the structure of the watch which was produced 
in the course of its mechanical movement ? I mean. 
Has it any thing at all to do with the contrivance ? 
The maker and contriver of one watch, when he 
inserted within it a mechanism suited to the pro- 
duction of another watch, was, in truth, the maker 
and contriver of that otlier watch. All the proper- 
ties of the new watch were to be referred to his 
agency : the design manifested in it, to his inten- 
tion : the art, to him as the artist : the collocation 
of each part to his placing : the action, effect, and 
use, to his counsel, intelligence, and workmanship. 
In producing it by the intervention of a former 
watch, he was only working by one set of tools in- 
stead of another. So it is with the plant, and the 
seed produced by it. Can any distinction be as- 
signed between the two cases ; between the pro- 
ducing watch, and the producing plant ; both paS' 
sive, unconscious substances ; both, by the organi- 
zation which was given to them, producing their 
like, without understanding or design ; both, that is, 
instruments ? 

n. From plants we may proceed to oviparou!= 



38 OP THE SUCCESSION OF 

animals ; from seeds to eggs. Now I say, that the 
bird has the same concern in the formation of the 
egg which she lays, as the plant has in that of the 
seed which it drops ; and no other, nor greater. 
The internal constitution of the egg is as much a 
secret to the hen, as if the hen were inanimate. 
Her will cannot alter it, or change a single feather 
of the chick. She can neither foresee nor deter- 
mine of which sex her brood shall be, or how many 
of either: yet the thing produced shall be, from 
the first, very different in its make, according to 
the sex which it bears. So far. therefore, from 
adapting the means, she is not beforehand apprised 
of the effect. If there be concealed within that 
smooth shell a provision and a preparation for the 
production and nourishment of a new animal, they 
are not of her providing or preparing : if there be 
contrivance, it is none of hers. Although, there- 
fore, there be the difference of life and perceptivity 
between the animal and the plant, it is a difference 
which enters not into the account : it is a foreign 
circumstance : it is a difference of properties not 
employed. The animal function and the vegetable 
function are alike destitute of any design which 
can operate upon the form of the thing produced. 
The plant has no design in producing the seed, no 
comprehension of the nature or use of what it pro- 
duces ; the bird, with respect to its egg, is not 
above the plant with respect to its seed. Neither 
the one nor the other bears that sort of relation to 
what proceeds from them, which a joiner does to 
the chair which he makes. Now a cause, which 
bears this relation to the effect, is what we want, 
in order to account for the suitableness of means to 
an end, the fitness and fitting of one thin^ to 
another ; and this cause the parent plant or animal 
does not supply. 

It is farther observable concerning the propaga- 
tion of plants and animals, that the apparatus em- 
ployed exhibits no resemblance to the thing pro- 
du'^ed ; in this respect holding an analogy with in- 
struments and tools of art. The filaments, antherae, 
and stigmata, of flowers, bear no more resemblance 
to the young plant, or even to the seed, which is 
formed by their intervention; than a chisel or a 



PLANTS AND ANIMALS. ti9 

plane does to a table or chair. What thea are the 
filaments, antherae; and stigmata, of plants, but in- 
striiments strictly so called 1 

III. We may advance from animals which bring, 
forth eggs, to animals which bring forth their young 
alive ; and of this latter class, n-om the lowest to 
the highest; from irrational to rational life, from 
brutes to the human species ; without perceiving^ 
as we proceed, any alteration whatever in the terms 
of the comparison. The rational animal does not 
produce its oifspring with more certainty or success 
than the irrational animal ; a man than a quadru- 
ped, a quadruped than a bird ; nor (for we may fol- 
low the gradation through its whole scale) a bird 
than a plant ; nor a plant than a watch, a piece of 
dead mechanism would do, upon the supposition 
which has already so often been repeated. Ra- 
tionality therefore has nothing to do in the business. 
If an account must be given of the contrivance 
which we observe : if it be demanded, whence arose- 
either the contrivance by which the young animal 
is produced, or the contrivance manifested in the 
young animal itself, it is not from the reason of the 
parent that any such account can be drawn. He is 
the cause of his offspring in the same sense as that 
in which a gardener is the cause of the tulip which 
grows upon his parterre, and in no other. We ad- 
mire the flower ; ^ we examine the plant; we per- 
ceive the conduciveness of many of its parts to 
their end and office ; we observe a provision foritB 
nourishment, growth, protection, and fecundity ; 
but we never think of the gardener in all this. We 
attribute nothing of this to his agency ; yet it may 
still be true, that without the gardener, we should 
not have had the tulip : just so it is with the suc- 
cession of animals even of the highest order. For 
the contrivance discovered in the structure of the 
thing produced, we want a contriver. The parent 
is not that contriver. His consciousness decides 
that question. He is in total ignorance why that 
which is produced took its present form rather than 
any other. It is for him only to be astonished by 
the effect. We can no more look, therefore, to the 
intelligence of the parent animal for what we are in 
search of, a cause of relation, and of subserviency 



40 APPLICATION OF THE 

of parts to their use, which relation and subser- 
viency we see in the procreated body, than we can 
refer the internal conformation of an acorn to the 
intelligence of the oak from which it dropped, or 
he structure of the watch to the intelligence of the 
watch which produced it ; there being no difference, 
as far as argument is concerned, between an intel- 
ligence which is not exerted, and an intelligence 
which does not exist. 



CHAP V. 

Application of the argument contimied. 

Every obsei-vation which was made in our first 
chapter, concerning the watch, may be repeated 
with strict propriety concerning the eye ; concern- 
ing animals ; concerning plants ; concerning, in- 
deed, all the organized parts of the works of nature. 
As, 

I. When we are inquiring simply after the exist- 
ence of an intelligent Creator, imperfection, inaccu- 
racy, liability to disorder, occasional irregularities, 
may subsist in a c )nsiderable degree, without in- 
ducing any doubt into the question : just as a watch 
may frequently go wrong, seldom perhaps exactly 
right, may be faulty in some parts, defective in 
some, without the smallest ground of suspicion 
from thence arising that it was not a watch ; not 
made ; or not made for the purpose ascribed to it. 
When faults are pointed out, and when a question 
is started concerning the skill of the artist, or dex- 
terity with which the work is executed, then, in- 
deed, in order to defend these qualities from accu- 
sation, we must be able, either to expose some in- 
tractableness and imperfection in the materials, or 
point out some invincible difficulty in the execution, 
into which imperfection and difficulty the matter of 
complaint may be resolved ; or if we cannot do this, 
we must adduce such specimens of consummate 
art and contrivance, proceeding from the same 
hand, as may convince the inquirer of the exist- 
ence, in the case before him, of impediments like 
those which we have mentioned, although, what 



ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 41 

from the nature of the case is very likely to happen, 
they be unknown and unperceived by him. This 
we must do in order to vindicate the artist's skill, 
or, at least, the perfection of it : as we must also 
judge of his intention, and of the provisions employ- 
ed in fulfilling that intention, not from an instance 
in which they fail, but from the great plurality of 
instances in which they succeed. But, after all, 
these are different questions from the question of 
the artist's existence ; or, which is the same, whe- 
ther the thing before us be a work of art or not : 
and the questions ought always to be kept separate 
in the mind. So likewise it is in the works of na- 
ture. Irregularities and imperfections are of little 
or no weight in the consideration, when that con- 
sideration relates simply to the existence of a Crea- 
tor. When the argument respects his attributes, 
they are of weight ; but are then to be taken in 
conjunction (the attention is not to rest upon them, 
but they are to be taken in conjunction) with the 
unexceptionable evidences which we possess, of 
skill, power, and benevolence, displaved in other 
instances: which evidences may, in strength, num- 
ber, and variety, be such, and may so overpower 
apparent blemishes, as to induce us, upon the most 
reasonable ground, to believe, that these last ought 
to be referred to some cause, though we be igno- 
rant of it, other than defect of knowledge or of be- 
nevolence in the author. 

II. There may be also parts of plants and ani- 
mals, as there were supposed to be of the watch, of 
which, in some instances, the operation, in others, 
the use, is unknown. These form different cases : 
for the operation may be unknown, yet the use be 
certain. Thus it is with the lungs of animals. It 
does not, I think, appear, that we are acquainted 
with the action of the air upon the blood, or in what 
manner that action is communicated by the lungs ; 
yet we find that a very short suspension of their 
office destroys the life of the animal. In this case, 
therefore, we may be said to know the use, nay we 
experience the necessity, of the organ, though we 
be ignorant of its operation. Nearly the same 
thing may be observed of what is called the lym- 
phatic system. We suffer grievous inconveniences 



42 APPLICATION OF THE 

from its disorder, without being informed of the of- 
fice which it sustains in the economy of our bodies. 
There may possibly also be some few examples of 
the second class in which not only the operation is 
unknown, but in which experiments may seem to 
prove that the part is not necessary ; or may leave 
a doubt, how far it is even useful to the plant or 
animal in which it is found. This is said to be the 
case with the spleen ; which has been extracted 
from dogs, without any sensible injury to their vital 
functions. Instances of the former kind, namely, 
in which we cannot explain the operation, may be 
numerous; for they wil be so in proportion to our 
ignorance. They will be more or fewer to different 
persons, and in different stages of science. Every 
improvement of knowledge diminishes their num- 
ber. There is hardly, perhaps, a year passes, that 
does not, in the works of nature, bring some ope- 
ration, or some mode of operation, to light, which 
was before undiscovered, probably unsuspected. In- 
stances of the second kind, namely, where the part 
appears to be totally useless,! believe to be extremely 
rare ; compared with the number of those, of which 
the use is evident, they are beneath any assignable 
proportion ; and, perhaps, have never been submit- 
ted to a trial and examination sufficiently accurate, 
long enough continued, or often enough repeated. 
IMo accounts which I have seen are satisfactory. — 
The mutilated animal may live and grow fat, (as 
was the case of the dog deprived of its spleen,) yet 
may be defective in some other of its functions ; 
which, whether they can all, or in what degree of 
vigour and perfection, be performed, or how long 
preserved, without the extirpated organ, does not 
seem to be ascertained by experiment. But to this 
case, even were it fully made out, may be applied the 
consideration which "we suggested concerning the 
watch, viz. that these superfluous parts do not ne- 
gative the reasoning which we instituted concern- 
ing those parts which are useful, and of which we 
^ know the use : the indication of contrivance, with 
respect to them, remains as it was before. 

III. One Atheistic way of replying to our obser- 
vations upon the works of nature, and to the proofs 
of a Deity which we think that we perceive in them, 



ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 43 

is to tell us, that all which we see must necessarily 
have had some form, and that it might as well be 
its present form as any other. Let us now apply 
this answer to the eye, as we did before to the 
watch. Something or other must have occupied 
that plane in the animaPs head ; must have filled 
up, we will say, that socket : we will say also, that 
it must have been of that sort of substance which 
we call animal substance, as flesh, bone, membrane, 
cartilage, &c. But that it should have been an eye, 
knowing as we do what an eye comprehends — viz. 
that it should have consisted, first, of a series of 
transparent lenses (very different, by the by, even 
in their substance, from the opaque materials of 
which the rest of the body is, in general at least, 
composed ; and with which the whole of its surface, 
this single portion of it excepted, is covered ;) se- 
condly, of a black cloth or canvas (the only mem- 
brane of the body which is black) spread out be- 
hind these lenses, so as to receive the image formed 
by pencils of light transmitted through them; and 
placed at the precise geometrical distance at which 
and at which alone, a distinct image could be 
formed, namely, at the concourse of the refracted 
rays : thirdly, of a large nerve communicating be- 
tween this membrane and the brain ; without which, 
the action of light upon the membrane, however 
modified by the organ, would be lost to the purposes 
of sensation : — that this fortunate conformation of 
parts should have been the lot. not of one individual 
out of many tJiousand individuals, like the great 
prize in a lottery, or like some singularity in na- 
ture, but the happy chance of a whole species ; nor 
of one species out of many thousand species, with 
which we are acquainted, but of by far the greatest 
number of all that exist ; and that under varieties, 
not casual or capricious, but bearing marks of being 
suited to their respective exigencies : — that ifeithis 
should have taken place, merely because something 
must have occupied those points in every animaPs 
forehead ; — or, that all this should be thought to be 
accounted for, by the short answer, '^ that whatever 
• was there, must have had some form or other," is 
too absurd to be made more so by any augmenta- 
I tion. We are not contented with this answer ; we 



44 APPLICATION OF THE 

find no satisfaction in it, by way of accounting for 
appearances of organization far short of those of 
the eye, such as we observe in fossil shells, petri- 
fied bones, or other substances which bear the ves- 
tiges of animal or vegetable recrements, but which, 
either in respect of utility, or of the situation in 
which they are discovered, may seem accidental 
enough. It is no way of accounting even for these 
things, to say that the stone, for instance, which is 
shown to us, (supposing the question to be concern- 
ing a petrification.) must have contained some in- 
ternal conformation or other. Nor does it mend the 
answer to add, with respect to the singularity of the 
conformation, that, after the event, it is no longer 
to be computed what the chances were against it. 
This is always to be computed, when the question 
is, whether a useful or imitative conformation be 
the produce of chance or not : I desire no greater 
certainty in reasoning, than that by which chance ; 
is excluded from the present disposition of the na- | 
tural world. Universal experience is against it, j 
What does chance ever do for us ? in the human ' 
body, for in?ta.nce, chance, i. e. the operation of ■ 
causes without design, may produce a wen, a wart, 
a mole, a pimple, but never an eye. Amongst in- 
animate substances, a clod, a pebble, a liquid drop, 
might be ; but never was a watcli, a telescope, an 
organized body of any kind, answering a valuable 
purpose by a complicated mechanism, the effect of < 
chance. In no assignable instance hath such a i 
thing existed without intention somewhere. 

IV. There is another answer, which has tlic 
same effect as the resolving of things into chance ; 
which answer would persuade us to believe, that 
the eye, the animal to which it belongs, every other 
animal, every plant, indeed every organized body 
whiclove see, are only so many out of the possible 
variffros and combinations of being, which the lapse 
of infinite ages has brought into existence ; that the 
present world is the relict of that variety ; millions 
of other bodily forms and other species having pe- 
rished, being by the defect of their constitution in- 
capable of proservation, or of con.inuance by gene- 
ration. Now there is no foundation whatever for 
this conjecture in any thing which we observe in 



THE ARGUMENT. 45 

the works of nature ; no such experiments are 
going on at present ; no such energy operates, as 
that which is here supposed, and which should be 
constantly pushing into existence new varieties of 
beings. Nor are tnere an> appearances to support 
an opinion, that every possible combination of 
vegetable or animal structure has formerly been 
tried. Multitudes of conformations, both of vege- 
tables and animals, may be conceived capable of 
existence and succession, which yet do not exist. 
Perhaps almost as many forms of plants might 
have been found in the fields, as figures of plants 
can be delineated upon paper. A countless variety 
of animals might have existed, which do not exist. 
Upon the supposition here stated, we should see 
unicorns and mermaids, sylphs and centaurs, the 
fancies of painters, and the fables of poets, realized 
by examples. Or, if it be alleged that these may 
transgress the limits of possible life and pro- 
pagation, we might, at least, have nations of 
human beings without nails upon their fingers, 
with more or fewer fingers and toes than ten ; 
some with one eye, others with one ear, with 
one nostril, or without the sense of smelling at 
all. All these, and a thousand other imaginable 
varieties, might live and propagate. We may mo- 
dify any one species man)' different ways, all con- 
sistent with life, and with the actions necessary to 
preservation, although af!brding different degrees 
of conveniency and enjoyment to the animal. And 
if we carry these modifications through the differ- 
ent species which are known to subsist, their rmm- 
ber would be incalculable. No reason can be given 
why, if these deperdits ever existed, they have 
now disappeared. Yet, if all possible existences 
have been tried, they must have formed part of the 
catalogue. 

But, moreover, the division of organized sub- 
stances into animals and vegetables, and the dis- 
ribution and sub-distribution of each into ge- 
lera and species, which distribution is^not an arbi- 
rary act of the mind, but founded in the order 
vhich prevails in external nature, appear to me to 
contradict the supposition of the present world 
»eing the remains of an indefinite vnrietv of exist- 



1 



4a [APPLICATION OF THE 

ences ; of a variety which rejects all plan. The 
hypothesis teaches^ that every possible variety of 
being hath, at one time or other, found its way into 
existence, (by what cause or in what manner is not 
said,) and that those which were badly formed, 
perished ; but how or why thoSv^ which survived 
should be cast, as we see that plants and animals 
are cast, into regular classes, the hypothesis does j 
not explain ; or rather the hypothesis is inconsist- 1 
ent with this phenomenon. j 

The hypothesis, indeed, is hardly deserving of | 
the consideration which we have given to it. What 
should we think of a man who, because we had 
never ourselves seen watches, telescopes, stocking- 
mills, steam-engines, &c. made, knew not how they 
were made, or could prove by testimony when 
they v^'ere made, or by whom, — would have us be- 
lieve that these machines, instead of deriving their 
curious structures from the thought and design of 
their inventors and contrivers, in truth derive them 
from no other origin than this ; viz. that a mass of 
metals and other materials having run when melt- 
ed into al] possible figures, and combined them- 
selves in all possible forms, and shapes, and pro- 
portions, these things which we see, are what were 
left from the accident, as best worth preserving 
and, as such, are become the remaining stock of a 
magazine, which, at one time or other, has by this 
means, contained every mechanism, useful and use- 
less, convenient and inconvenient, into which such 
like materials could be thrown ? I cannot distin- 
guish the hypothesis as applied to the works of na- 
ture, from this solution, which no one would accept. 
as applied to a collection of machines. 

V, To the marks of contrivance discoverable in 
animal bodies, and to the argument deduced from 
them, in proof of design, and of a designing Creator, 
this turn is sometimes attempted to be given, 
namely, that the parts were not intended for the use, 
^ but that the use arose out of the parts. This dis- 
tinction is intelligible. A cabinet-maker rubs his 
mahogany with fish-skin ; yet it would be too much 
to assert "^that the skin of the dog-fish was made 
rough and jrranulated on purpose for the polishmg 
<^f wood, and the use of cabinet-maker?. There- 



II 



ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 47 

fore the distinction is intelligible. But I think that 
there is very little place for it in the works of na- 
ture. When roundly and generally affirmed of 
them, as it hath sometimes beeU; it amounts to 
such another stretch of assertion, as it would be to 
say, that all the implements of the cabinet-maker's 
work-shop, as well as nis fish-skin, were substan- 
ces accidentally configurated, which he had picked 
up, and converted to his use ; that his adzes, saws^ 
planes, pnd gimblets, were not made, as we sup- 
pose, to hew, cut, smooth, shape out, or bore wood 
with ; but that, these things being made, no matter 
with what design, or whether with any, the cabinet- 
maker perceived that they were applicable to his 
purpose, and turned them to account. 

But again. So far as this solution is attempted to 
be applied to those parts of animals, the action of 
which does not depend upon the will of the animal, 
it is fraught with still more evident absurdity. Is 
it possible to believe that the eye was formed with- 
out any regard to visio: ; that it was the animal 
itself which found out, that though formed with no 
such intention, it would serve to see with ; and that 
the use of the eye, as an organ of sight, resulted 
from this discovery, and tli^ animal's application of 
it ? The same question may be asked of the ear ; 
the same of all the senses. None of the senses fun- 
damentally depend upon the election of the animal ; 
consequently neither upon his sagacity, nor his ex- 
perience. It is the impression which objects make 
upon them, that constitutes their use. Under that 
impression, he is passive. He may bring objects 
to the sense, or within its reach ; he may select 
these objects : but over the impression itself he 
has no power, or rery little ; and that properly is 
the sense. 

Secondly, There are many parts of animal 

, bodies which seem to depend upon the will of the 

, animal in a greater degree than the senses do, and 

yet with respect to which, this solution is equally 

I unsatisfactory. If we apply the solution to the hu- 

i man body, for instance, it forms itself into questions, 

upon which no reasonable mind can doubt ; such 

; as, whether the teeth were made expressly for the 

mastication of food, the feet for walking, the hands 



48 APPLICATION OF THE 

for holding ? or whether, these things being as they 
are, being in fact in the animal's possession, his own 
ingenuity taught him that they were convertible to 
these purposes, though no such purposes were con- 
templated in their formation ? 

All that there is of the appearance of reason in 
this way of considering the subject is, that in some 
cases the organization seems to determine the habits 
of the animal, and its choice, to a particular mode 
of life; which, in a certain sense, may be called 
^^ the use arising out of the part." Now to all the 
instances, in which there is any place tor this sug- 
gestion, it may be replied, that the organization de- 
termines the animal to habits beneficial and saluta- 
ry to itself ; and that this effect would not be seen 
so regularly to follow, if the several organizations 
did not bear a concerted and contrived relation to 
the substance by which the animal was surrounded. 
They would, otherwise, be capacities without ob- 
jects ; powers without employment. The web-foot 
determines, you say, the duck to swim ; but what 
would that avail, if there were no water to swim 
in ? The strong, hooked bill, and sharp talons, of 
one species of bird, determine it to prey upon ani- 
mals ; the soft, straight bill, and weak claws of 
another species, determine it to pick up seeds : but 
neither determination could take effect in providing 
for the sustenance of the birds, if animal bodies and 
vegetable seeds did not lie within their reach. The 
peculiar conformation of the bill and tongue and 
claws of the woodpecker, determines that bird to 
search for his food amongst the insects lodged be- 
hind the bark, or in the wood, of decayed trees : but 
what should this profit him, if there were no trees, 
no decayed trees, no insects lodged under their 
bark, or in their trunk? The proboscis with which 
the bee is furnished, determines him to seek for 
honey : but what would tiiat signify, if flowers sup- 
plied none ? Faculties thrown down upon animals 
> at random, and without reference to the objects 
amidst which ti)ey are placed, would not produce 
U) them the services and benefits which we see ; 
and if there be that reference, then there is in- 
tention. 

Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied 



ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 49 

to plants. The parts of plants answer their uses, 
without any concurrence from the will or choice of 
the plant. 

VI. Others have chosen to refer every thing to a. 
'principle of order in nature. A principle of order is 
the word : but what is meant by a principle of or- 
der, as different from an intelligent Creator^ has 
not been explained either by definition or example ; 
and, without such explanation, it should seem to be 
a mere substitution of words for reasons, names for 
causes. Order itself is only the adaptation of 
means to an end : a principle of order, therefore,., 
can only signify the mind and intention which s® 
adapts them. Or, were it capable of being explain* 
ed in any other sense, is there any experience, any 
analogy, to sustain it? Was a watch ever pro- 
duced by a principle of order ? and why might not 
a watch be so produced as well as an eye ? 

Furthermore, a principle of order, acting blindly^ 
and without choice, is negatived by the observation, 
that order is not universal ; which it wOuld be, if 
it issued from a constant and necessary principle ; 
nor indiscriminate, which it would be, if it issued 
from an unintelligent principle. Where order is 
wanted, there we fmd it ; where order is not want- 
ed, i. e. where, if it prevailed, it would be useless^. 
there we do not fincfit. In the structure of the eye, 
(for we adhere to our example,) in the figure and 
position of its several parts, the most exact order 
is maintained. In the forms of rocks and moun- 
tains, in the lines which bound the coasts of conti- 
nents and islands; in the shape of bays and promon- 
tories, no order whatever is perceived, because it 
would have been superfluous. No useful purpose 
would have arisen from moulding rocks and moun- 
tains into regular solids, bounding the channel of 
the ocean by geometrical curves ; or from the map 
of the world resembling a table of diagrams in 
Euclid's Elements, or Simpson's Conic Sections. 

VII. Lastly, The confidence which we place iit 
our observations upon the works of nature, in the 
marks which we discover of contrivance, choice, 
and design, and in our reasoning upon the prooia' 
afforded us, ought not to be shaken, as it is some^ 
tim^ attempted to be done, by bringing^ forward to 

4 



m APPLICATION, &c. 

our view our own ignorance, or rather the general 
imperfection of our knowledge of nature. Nor, in 
many cases, ought this consideration to affect us, 
even when it respects some parts of the subject 
immediately under our notice. True fortitude of 
understanding consists in not suffering what we 
know, to be disturbed by what we do not know. If 
we perceive a useful end, and means adapted to 
that end, we perceive enough for our conclusion. 
If these things be clear^ no matter what is obscure. 
The argument is fmished. For instance ; if the 
utility of vision to the animal which enjoys it, and 
the adaptation of the eije to this office, be evident 
and certain, (and I can mention nothing which is 
more so^) ought it to prejudice the inference which 
we draw from these premises, that we cannot ex- 
plain the use of the spleen? Nay, more : if there 
be parts of the eye, viz. the cornea, the crystalline, 
the retina, in their substance, figure, and position, 
manifestly suited to the formation of an image by 
the refraction of rays of light, at least, as manifest- 
ly as the glasses and tubes of a dioptric telescope ' 
are suited to that purpose ; it concerns not the 
proof which these afford of design, and of a de- 
signer, that there may perhaps be other parts, cer- 
tain muscles for instance, or nerves in the same 
eye, of the agency or eftect of which we can give 
no account ; any more than we should be inclined 
to doubt, or ought to doubt, about the construction 
cf a telescope, viz. for what purpose it was con- 
structed, or whether it were constructed at all, be- 
cause there belonged to it certain screws and pins, 
the use or action of which we did not comprehend. 
1 take it to be a general way of infusing doubts and 
scruples into the mind, to recur to its own igno- 
rance, its own imbecility : to tell us that upon these 
subiects we know little ; that little imperfectly ; or 
rather, that we know nothing properly about the 
matter. These suggestions so fall in with our con- 
^ sciousness, as sometimes to produce a general dis- 
trust of our faculties and our conclusions. But this 
is an unfounded jealousy. The uncertainty of one 
thing does not necessarily affect the certainty of 
another thing. Our ignorance of many points need 
not suspend our assurance of a few. Before ^ye 



THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. 5i 

yield, in any particular instance, to the scepticism 
which this sort of insinuation would induce, we 
ought accurately to ascertain, whether our igno- 
rance or doubt concern those precise points upon 
which our conclusion rests. Other points are 
nothing. Our ignorance of other points may be ol" 
no consequence to these, though they be points, in 
various respects, of great importance. A just rea- 
soner removes from his consideration, not only what 
he knows_, but what he does not know, touching 
matters not strictly connected with his argument, 
i. e. not forming the very steps of his deduction ; 
beyond these, his knowledge and his ignorance are 
alike relative. 



CHAP. VI. 

The argument cumulative. 
Were there no example in the world, of contri- 
vance, except that of the eye, it would be alone suf- 
ficient to support the conclusion wuich we draw 
from it, as to the necessity of an intelligent Crea- 
tor. It could never be got rid of ; because it could 
not be accounted for by any other supposition, 
which did not contradict all the principles we pos- 
sess of knowledge ; the principles according to 
which, things do, as often as they can be brought 
to the test of experience, turn out to be true or 
false. Its coats and humours, constructed, as the 
lenses of a telescope are construt^ted, for the re- 
fraction of rays of light to -i point, which forms the 
proper action of the organ ; the i3rovision in its 
muscular tendons for turning its pupil to the ob- 
ject, similar to that which is given to the telescope 
by screws, and upon which power of direction in 
the eye, the exercise of its office as an optical in- 
strument depends ; the farther provision for its de- 
fence, for its constant lubricity and moisture, 
which we see in its socket and its lids, in its gland 
for the secretion of the matter of tears, its outlet or 
communication with the nose for carrying off the 
liquid after the eye is washed with it; these pro- 
visions compose altogether an apparatus, a system 



52 THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. 

of partS; a preparation of means, so manifest in 
their design, so exquisite in their contrivance, so 
successful in their issue, so precarious, and so in- 
finitely beneficial in their use, as, in my opinion, to 
bear down all doubt that can be raised upon the 
subject. And what I wish, under the title of the 
present chapter, to observe is, that if other parts of 
nature were inaccessible to our inquiries, or even 
if other j)arts of nature presented nothing to our 
examination but disorder and confusion, the vali- 
dity of this example would remain the same. If 
there were but one watch in the world, it would not 
be less certain that it had a maker. If we had 
never in our lives seen any but one single kind of 
hydraulic machine, yet, if of that one kind we un- 
derstood the mechanism and use, we should be as 
perfectly assured that it proceeded from the hand, 
and thought, and skill, of a workman, as if we 
visited a museum of the arts, and saw collected 
there twenty different kinds of machines for draw- 
ing water, or a thousand different kinds for other 
purposes. Of this point, each machine is a proof, 
independently of ail the rest. So it is with the evi- 
dences of a Divine agency. The proof is not a con- 
clusion which lies at the end of a chain of reason- 
ing, of which chain each instance of contrivance is 
only a link, and of which, if one link fail, the whole 
falls ; but it is an argument separately supplied by 
every separate example. An error in stating an 
example, affects only that example. The argument 
is cumulative, in the fullest sense of that term. The 
eye proves it without the ear ; the ear without the 
eye. The proof in each example is complete ; for 
when the design of the part, and the conducive- 
ness of its structure to that design, is shown, the 
mind may set itself at rest ; no future considera- 
tion can detract any thing from the force of the ex- 
ample. 



[ 53 ] 

CHAP. VII. 

Of the mechanical and immechanical parts and /mic- 
tions of animals and vegetables. 

It is not that every part of an animal or vegeta- 
ble has not proceeded from a contriving mind ; or 
that every part is not constructed with a view to 
its proper end and purpose; according to the laws 
belonging to and governing the substance or the 
action made use of in that part ; or that each part 
is not so constructed as i^o^ffectuate its purpose 
whilst it operates according to these laws ; but it 
is because these laws themselves are not in all 
cases equally understood ; or, what amounts to 
nearly the same thing, are not equally exemplified 
in more simple processes, and more simple ma- 
chines ; that we lay down the distinction, here pro- 
posed, between the mechanical parts 'and other 
parts of animals and vegetables. 

For instance : The principle of muscular motion, 
viz. upon what cause the swelling of the belly of 
the muscle, and consequent contraction of its ten- 
dons, either by an act of the will, or by involuntary 
irritation, depends, is wholly unknown to us. The 
substance employed, whether it be fluid, gaseous, 
elastic, electrical, or none of these, or nothing re- 
sembling these, is also unknown to us : of course, 
the laws belonging to that substance, and which 
regulate its action, are unknown to us. We see 
nothing similar to this contraction in any machine 
which we can make, or any process which we can 
execute. So far (it is confessed) we are in igno- 
rance, but no farther. This power and principle, 
from whatever cause it proceeds, being assumed, 
the collocation of the fibres to receive the principle, 
the disposition of the muscles for the use and ap- 
plication of the power, is mechanical , and is as in- 
telligible as the adjustment of the wires and strings 
by which a puppet is moved. We see, therefore, 
as far as respects the subject before us, what is not 
mechanical in the animal frame, and what is. The 
nervous influence (for we are often obliged to give 
names to things which we know little about) — I 
say the nervous influence, by which the belly, or 



54 BIECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL 

middle, of the muscle is swelled, is not mechanical. 
The utility of the effect we perceive ; the means, 
or the preparation of means, by which it is produ- 
ced, we do not. But obscurity as to the origin of 
muscular motion, brings no doubtfulness into our 
observations upon the sequel of the process : which 
observations relate, 1^^, To the constitution of the 
muscle ; in consequence of which constitution, the 
swelling of the belly or middle part is necessarily 
and mechanically followed by a contraction of the 
tendons : 2dly, To the number and variety of the 
muscles, and the corresponding number and variety 
of useful powders which they supply to the animal; 
which is astonishingly great : Sdlij, To the judi- ' 
cious (if we may be permitted to use that term, in 
speaking of the Author, or of the works,, of nature,) 
to the wise and well-contrived disposition of each 
muscle for its specific purpose ; for moving the 
joint this way, and that way, and the other way ; 
for pulling and drawing the part to which it is at- 
tached, in a determinate and particular direction '. 
which is a mechanical operation, exemplified in a 
multitude of instances. To mention only one : 
The tendon of the trochlear muscle of the eye, to 
the end that it may draw in the line required, is 
passed through a cartilaginous ring, at which it is 
reverted, exactly in the same manner as a rope in a 
ship is carried over a block or round a stay, in 
order to make it pull in the direction which is want- 
ed. All this, as we have said, is mechanical ; and 
is as accessible to inspection, as capable of being 
ascertained, as the mechanism of the automaton in 
the Strand. Suppose the automaton to be put in 
motion by a magnet, (which is probable.) it will 
supply us with a comparison very apt for our pre- 
sent purpose. Of the magnetic effluvium, we know- 
perhaps as little as we do of the nervous fluid. 
But, magnetic attraction being assumed, (it signi- 
fies nothing from what cause it proceeds.) we can 
trace, or there can be pointed out to us, with per- 
fect clearness and certainty, the mechanism, viz. 
the steel bars, the wheels, the joints, the wires, by 
which the motion so much admired is communica- 
ted to the fingers of the image : and to make any 
obscurity; or difficulty, or controversy; in the doc- 



PARTS AND FUNCTIONS; &c 55 

trine of magnetism, an objection to our knowledge 
or our certainty concerning the contrivance, or the 
marks of contrivance, displayed in the automaton, 
would be exactly the same thing, as it is to make 
our ignorance (which we acknowledge) of the cause 
of nervous agency, or even of the substance and. 
structure of the nerves themselves, a ground of 
question or suspicion as to the reasoning which 
we institute concerning the mechanical part of our 
frame. That an animal is a machine, is a proposi- 
tion neither correctly true nor wholly false. The 
distinction which we have been discussing will 
serve to show how far the comparison, which this 
, expression implies, holds ; and wherein it fails. 
And whether the distinction be thought of impor- 
tance or not; it is certainly of importance to re- 
member, that there is neither truth nor justice in 
endeavouring to bring a cloud over our understand- 
ings, or a distrust into our reasonings upon this 
subject, by suggesting that we know nothing of 
voluntary motion, of irritability, of the principle of 
life, of sensation; of animal heat, upon all v/hich 
the animal functions depend ; for, our ignorance of 
these parts of the animal frame concerns not at all 
our knowledge of the mechanical parts of the same 
frame. I contend, therefore, that there is mechan- 
ism in animals ; th'at this mechanism is as properly 
such, as it is in machines made by art ; that this 
mechanism is intelligible and certain ; that it is 
not the less so, because it often begins or terminates 
with something which is not mechanical ; that 
whenever it is intelligible and certain, it demon- 
strates intention and contrivance, as well in the 
works of nature as in those of art ; and that it is 
the best demonstration which either can afford. 

But whilst I contend for these propositions, I do 
not exclude myself from asserting, that there may 
be, and that there are, other cases, in which, al- 
though we cannot exhibit mechanism, or prove in- 
deed that mechanism is employed, we want not 
sufficient evidence to conduct us to the same con- 
clusion. 

There is what may be called the chymical parr 
of our frame ; of which, by reason of the imper- 
fection of our chymistry. we can attain to no dis- 



56 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL 

tinct knowledge ; I mean, not to a knowledge, 
either in degree or kind, similar to that which we 
possess of the mechanical part of our frame. It 
does not, therefore, afford the same species of ar- 
gument as that which mechanism affords ; and yet 
it may afford an argument in a high degree satis- 
factory. The gastric juice, or the liquor which 
digests the food in the stomachs of animals, is of 
this class. Of all menstrua, it is the most active^ 
the most universal. In the human stomach, for 
instance, consider what a variety of strange sub- 
stances, and how widely different from one another, 
it, in a few hours, reduces to a uniform pulp, milk, or 
mucilage. It seizes upon every thing, it dissolves 
the texture of almost every thing that comes in its 
way. The flesh of perhaps all animals ; the seeds 
and fruits of the greatest number of plants ; the 
roots, and stalks, and leaves, of many, hard and 
tough as they are, yield to its powerful pervasion. 
The change wrought by it is different from any 
chymical solution which we can produce, or with 
which we are acquainted, in this respect as well 
as many others, that, in our chymistry, particular 
menstrua act only upon particular substances. 
Consider moreover, that this fluid, stronger in its 
operation than a caustic alkali or mineral acid, 
than red precipitate, or aqua-fortis itself, is never 
theless as mild, and bland, and inoffensive t«3 the 
touch or taste, as saliva or gum-water, which it 
much resembles. Consider, I say, these several 
properties of the digestive organ, and of the juice 
with which it is supplied, or rather with which it 
is made to supply itself, and you will confess it to 
be entitled to a name, which it has sometimes re- 
ceived, that of ^' the chymical wonder of animal 
nature. '^ 

Still we are ignorant of the composition of this 
fluid, and of the mode of its action ; by which is 
meant, that we are not capable, as we are in the 
inechanical part of our frame, of collating it with 
the operations of art. And this I call the imper- 
fection of our chymistry ; for, should the time ever 
arrive, which is not perhaps to be despaired of, 
when we can compound ingredients, so as to form a 
s.6lvent which will act in the mamxer in which th^ 



PARTS AND FUNCTIONS, &c. 57 

gastric juice acts, we may be able to ascertain the 
chymical principles upon which its efficacy de- 
pends, as well as from what part, and by what con- 
coction, in the human body, these principles are 
generated and derived. 

In the mean time, ought that, which is in truth 
the defeat of our chymistry, to hinder us from ac- 
quiescing in the inference, which a production! of 
nature, by its place, its properties, its action, its 
surprising efficacy, its invaluable use, authorizes 
us to draw in respect of a creative design ? 

Another most subtile and curious function of ani 
mal bodies is secretion. This function is semi- 
chymical and semi-mechanical ; exceedingly im- 
portant and diversified in its effects, but obscure in 
its process and in its apparatus. The importance 
of the secretory organs is but too well attested hy 
the diseases, which an excessive, a deficient, or a 
vitiated secretion is almost sure of producing. A 
single secretion being wrong, is enough to make 
life miserable, or sometimes to destroy it. Nor 
is the variety less than the importance. From one 
and the same blood (I speak of the human body) 
about twenty different fluids are separated ; in 
their sensible properties, in taste, smell, colour, 
and consistency, the most unlike one another thai 
is possible; thick, thin, salt, bitter, sweet ; and, 
if from our own we pass to other species of ani- 
mals, we find amongst their secretions not only 
the most various, but the most opposite properties ; 
the most nutritious aliment, the deadliest poison ; 
the sweetest perfumes, the most fcetid odours. Of 
these the greater part, as the gastric juice, the sa- 
liva, the bile, the slippery mucilage which lubri- 
cates the joints, the tears which moisten the eye, 
the wax which defends the ear, are, after they are 
secreted, made use of in the animal economy ; are 
evidently subservient, and are actually contributing 
to the utilities of the animal itself. Other fluids 
•seem to be separated only to be rejected. That 
this also is necessary, (though why it was original" 
ly necessary, we cannot tell,) is shown by the con- 
sequence of the separation being long suspended ; 
which consequence is disease and death. Akin to 
secretion; if not the same thing, is assimilation, 
5 



u8 MECHANICAL AND DLMECIIANICAL 

by which one and the same blood is converted into 
bone, muscular flesh, nerves, membranes, tendons ; 
things as different as the wood and iron, canvas 
and cordage, of which a ship with its furniture is 
composed. We have no operation of art where- 
with exactly to compare all this, for no other rea- 
son perhaps than that all operations of art are ex- 
ceeded by it. No cbymical election, no chymiccl 
analysis or resolution of a substance into its c )n- 
stituent parts, no mechanical sifting or division, 
that we are acquainted with, in perfection or vari- 
ety, come up to animal secretion. Nevertheless, 
the apparatus and process are obscure ; not to say 
absolutely concealed from our inquiries. In a few, 
and only a few instances, we can discern a little 
of the constitution of a gland. In the kidneys of 
large animals, we can trace the emulgent artery 
dividing itself into an infinite number of branches ; 
fheir extremities every where communicating with 
little round bodies, in the substance of which bo- 
dies the secret of the machinery seems to reside, 
tor there the change is made. We can discern 
pipes laid from these round bodies toward the 
pelvis, which is a basin within the solid of the kid- 
ney. We can discern these pipes joining and col- 
lecting together into larger pipes ; and, when so 
<^olIected, ending in innumerable papillse, through 
which the secreted fluid is continually oozing into 
its receptacle. This is all we know of (he mechanism 
of a gland, even in the case in which it seems most 
capable of being investigated. Yet to pronounce 
that we know nothing of animal secretion, or 
notliing satisfactorily, and with that concise remark 
to dismiss the article from our argument, would be 
to dispose of the subject very hastily and very ir- 
rationally. For the purpose which we want, that 
of evincing intention, we know a great deal. And 
what we now is this. We see the blood carried 
by a pipe, conduit, or duct, to the gland. We see 
an organized apparatus, be its construction or ac- 
tion what it will, which we call that gland. We 
see the blood, or part of the blood, after it has 
passed through and undergone the action of the 
srland, coming from it by an emulgent vein or 
.>>-»ov^- •;■ r^ bv another nio'*' '-^ ^^'^duit. And w- 



PARTS AND FUNCTIONS; &c. 59 

see also at the same time a new and specific fluid 
issuing from the same gland by its excretory duct^ 
i. e. by a third pipe or conduit ; which new fluid is 
in some cases discharged out of the body, in more 
cases retained within it, and there executing some 
important and intelligent office. Now supposing, 
or admitting, that we know nothing of the proper 
internal constitution of a gland, or of the mode of 
its acting upon the blood • then our situation is 
precisely like that of an unmechanical looker-on, 
who stands by a stocking-loom, a corn-mill, a 
carding-machine, or a thrashing-machine, at work, 
the fabric and mechanism of which, as well as all 
that passes within, is hidden from his sight by the 
outside case ; or, if seen, would be too complicated 
for his uninformed, uninstructed understanding to 
comprehend. And what is that situation ? This 
spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at one end a ma- 
terial enter the machine, as unground grain the 
mill, raw cotton the carding-machine, sheaves of 
unthrashed corn the thrashing machine ; and, when 
he casts his eye to the other end of the apparatus, 
he sees the material issuing from it in a new state ; 
and, what is more, in a state manifestly adapted to 
future uses ; the grain in meal fit for the making 
of bread, the wool in rovings ready for spinning 
into threads, the sheaf in corn dressed for tne mill. 
Is it necessary that this man, in order !o be con- 
vinced that design, that intention, that contrivance, 
has been employed about the machine, should be 
allowed to pull it to pieces ; should be enabled to 
examine the parts separately ; explore their action 
upon one another, or their operation, whether sim- 
ultaneous or successive, upon the material which 
is presented to them ? He may long to do this tQ 
sj;xa.t'ify his curiosity ; he may desire to do it to 
improve his theoretic knowledge ; or he may have 
d more substantial reason for requesting it, if he 
happen, instead of a common visiter, to be a mill- 
wright by profession, or a person sometimes called 
in to repair such-like machines when out of order ; 
but, for the purpose of ascertaining the existence of 
counsel and design in the formation of the machine, 
he wants no such intromission or privity, What 
he sees, is sufficient. The effect upon the mate- 



60 PARTS AND FUNCTIONS, &:c. 

rial, the change produced in it, the utility of that 
change for future applications, abundantly testify, 
be the concealed part of the machine or of its con- 
struction what it will; the hand and agency of a 
contriver. 

If any confirmation were wanting to the evidence 
which the animal secretions aflbrd of design^ it ma)' 
be derived, as has been already hinted, from their 
variety, and from their appropriation to their place 
and use. They all come from the same blood : 
they are all drawn off by glands : yet the produce 
is very different, and the difference' exactly adapt- 
ed to the work which is to be done, or the end to be 
answered. No account can be given of this, with- 
out resorting to appointment. Why, for instance, 
is the saliva, which is diffused over the seat of taste, 
insipid, whilst so many others of the secretions, 
the urine, the tears, and the sweat, are salt ? Why 
does the gland within the ear separate a viscid 
substance, which defends that passage ; the gland 
in the upper angle of the eye, a thin urine, which 
washes the ball 1 Why is the syno\-ia of the joints 
mucilaginous ; the bile bitter, stimulating and 
soapy ? Why does the juice, which flows inlo the 
stomach, contain powers, which make that bowel 
the great laboratory, as it is by its situation the re- 
cipient, of the materials of future nutrition ? These 
are all fair questions ; and no answer can be given 
to them, but what calls in intelligence and in- 
tention. 

My object in the present chapter has been to 
teach three things : first, that it is a mistake to sup- 
pose that, in reasoning from the appearances of na- 
ture, the imperfection of our knowledge propor- 
tionably affects the certainty of our conclusion; 
for in many cases it does not affect it at all : second- 
ly, that the different parts of the animal frame may 
be classed and distributed, according to the degree 
of exactness with which we can compare them 
\vith works of art : thirdly, that the mechanical pans 
of our freune, or those in which this comparison is 
most complete, although constituting, probably, the 
coarsest portions of nature's workmanship, are the 
most proper to be alleged as proofs and speci- 
rneae of design. 



OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT, &c. 61 

CHAP. VHI. 

Of mechanical arrangement in the human frame. 
We proceed, therefore; to propose certain ex- 
amples taken out of this class ; making choice of 
such as, amongst those which have come to our 
knowledge, appear to be the most striking, and the 
best understood ; but obliged, perhaps, to postpone 
both these recommendations to a third; that of the 
example being capable of explanation without 
plates, or figures, or technical language. 

OF THE BONES. 

I. — I challenge any man to produce, in the joints 
and pivots of the most complicated or the most 
flexible machine that was ever contrived, a con- 
struction more artificial, or more evidently artifi- 
cial, than that which is seen in the vertebrae of the 
human neck. — Two things were to be done. The 
head was to have the power of bending forward 
and backward, as in the act of nodding, stooping, 
looking upward or downward ; and, at the same 
time, of turning itself round upon the body to a 
certain extent, the quadrant we will say, or ratherj 
perhaps, a hundred and twenty degrees of a circle. 
For these two purposes, two distinct contrivances 
are employed : First, the head rests immediately 
upon the uppermost of the vertebrae^ and is united 
to it by a hinge-]omi ; upon which joint the head 
plays freely forward and backward, as far either 
way as is necessary, or as the ligaments allow ; 
which was the first thing required. — But then the. 
rotatory motion is unprovided for ; Therefore, 
secondly, to make the head capable of this, a far- 
ther mechpnism is introduced ; not between the 
head and the uppermost bone of the neck, where 
the hinge is, but betwen that bone and the bone 
next underneath it. It is a mechanism resembling 
2^ tenon and mortice. This second, or uppermost 
bone but one, has what anatomists call a process, 
viz. a projection, somewhat similar, in size and 
shape, to a tooth ; which tooth, entering a corres- 
ponding hole or socket in the bone above it, forms 



62 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 

a pivot or axle; upon which that upper bone, to- 
gether with the head which it supports, turns free- 
ly in a circle ; and as far in the circle as the at- 
tached muscles permit the head to turn. Thus are 
both motions perfect, without interfering with each 
other. When we nod the head, we use the hinge- 
joint, which lies between the head and the first bone 
of the neck. When we turn the head round, |we 
use the tenon and mortice, which runs between the 
first bone of the neck and the second. We see the 
same contrivance and the same principle employed 
in the frame or mounting of a telescope. It is occa- 
sionally requisite, that the object-end of the instru- 
ment be moved up and down as well as horizon- 
tally, or equatorially. For the vertical motion, 
there is a hinge, upon which the telescope plays ; 
for the horizontal or equatorial motion, an axis 
upon which the telescope and the hinge turn round 
together. And this is exactly the mechanism which 
is applied to the motion of the head : nor will any 
one here doubt of the existence of counsel and de- 
sign, except it be by that debility of mind, which 
can trust to its own reasonings in nothing. 

We may add, that it was, on another account 
also, expedient, that the motion of the head 
backward and forward should be performed upon 
the upper surface of the first vertebra : for if the 
tirst vertebra itself had bent forward, it would have 
brought the spinal marrow, at the very beginning 
of its course, upon the point of the tooth. 

II. Another mechanical contrivance, not unlike 
the last in its object, but different and original in 
its means, is seen in what anatomists call the fore.- 
arm; that is, in the arm between the elbow and the 
wrist. Here, for the perfect use of the limb, two 
motions are wanted ; a motion at the elbow back- 
ward and forward, which is called a reciprocal mo- 
tion ; and a rotatory motion, by which the palm of 
the hand, as occasion requires, may be turned up- 
ward. How is this managed ; The fore-arm, it is 
well known, consists of two bones, lying along side 
each other, but touching only towards the ends. 
One, and only one, of these bones, is joined to the 
cubit, or upper part of the arm, at the elbow ; the 
other alone, to the hand at the wrist. The first, by 
mean?; at the elbow, of a hinge-joint (which allows 



IN THE HUMAxN I RAxME. 63 

only of motion in the same plane,) swings backward 
and forward, carrying along with it the other bone. 
and the whole fore-arm. In the mean time, as often 
as there is occasion to turn the palm upward, that 
other bone to which the hand is attached, rolls upon 
the first; by the help of a groove or hollow near 
each end of one bone, to which is fitted a corre- 
sponding prominence in the other. If both bones 
had been joined to the cubit or upper arm, at the 
elbow, or both to the hand at the wrist, the thing 
could not have been done. The first was to be al 
liberty at one end, and the second at the other ; b} 
which means the two actions may be performed to- 
gether. The great bone which carries the fore- 
arm, may be swinging upon its hinge at the elbow, 
at the very time that the lesser bone, which carries 
the hand, may be turning round it in ,^the grooves 
The management also of these grooves, or rather 
of the tubercles and grooves, is very observable. 
The two bones are called the radius and the ulna. 
Above, i. e. towards the elbow, a tubercle of the 
radius plays into a socket of the ulna ; whilst be- 
low, 2. e. towards the wrist^ the radius finds the 
socket, and the ulna the tubercle. A single bone 
in the fore-arm, with a ball and socket joint at the 
elbow, which admits of motion in ail directions, 
might, in some degree, have answered the purpose 
of both moving the arm and turning the hand. 
But how much better it is accomplished by the pre- 
sent mechanism, any person may convince himself, 
who puts the ease and quickness, with which he 
can shake his hand at the wrist circularly (moving 
likewise, if he pleases, his arm at the elbow at the 
same time) in competition with the comparatively 
slow and laborious motion, with which his arm can 
be made to turn round at the shoulder, by the aid 
of a bail and socket joint. 

III. The spine, or back-bone, is a chain of joints 
of very wonderful construction. Various, difficult, 
and almost inconsistent offices were to be executed 
by the same instrument. It was to be firm, yet 
flexible ; (now I know no chain made by art, which 
is both these ; for by firmness I mean, not only 
strength, but stability \) firm, to support the ereci 
position of the body ; flexible, to allow of the bend* 



64 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGExMENT 

ing of the trunk in all degrees of curvature. It was 
farther also (which is another, and quite a distinct 
purpose from the rest) to become a pipe or conduit 
for the safe conveyance from the brain, of the most 
important fluid of the animal frame, that, namely, 
upon which all voluntary motion depends, the sp'i- 
nal marrow ; a substance not only of the first ne- 
cessity to action, if not to life, but of a nature so de- 
licate and tender, so susceptible, and so impatient 
of injury, as that any unusual i)ressure upon it, or 
any considerable obstruction ofits course, is follow- 
ed by paralj^-sis or death. Now the spine was not 
only to furnish the main trunk for the passage of 
the rnedullary substance from the brain, but to give 
out, in the course of its progress, small pipes there- 
from, which being afterward indefinitely subdivided, 
might, under the name of nerves, distribute this ex- 
quisite supply to every part of the body. The same 
spine was also to serve another use not less wanted 
than the preceding, viz. to afford a fulcrum, stay, 
or basis {or, more properly speaking, a series of 
these,) for the insertion of the muscles which are 
spread over the trunk of the body : in which trunk 
there are not, as in the limbs, cylindrical bones, to 
which they can be fastened: and, likewise, which 
is a similar use, to furnish a support for the ends 
of the ribs to rest upon. 

Bespeak of a workman a piece of mechanism 
which shall comprise all these purposes, and let 
him set about to contrive it : let him try his skill 
upon it; let him feel the difficulty of accomplishing 
the task, before he be told how the same thing is 
effected in the animal frame. Nothing will enable 
him to judge so well of the wisdom which has been 
employed ; nothing will dispose him to think of it 
so truly. First, for the firmness, yet flexibility, of 
the spine ; it is composed of a great number of 
bones (in the human subject, of twenty-four) joined 
to one another, and compacted by broad bases. The 
breadth of the bases upon which the parts severally 
rest, and the closeness of the junction, give to the 
chain its firmness and stability ; the number of 
parts, and consequent frequency of joints, its flexi- 
bility. Which flexibility, we may also observe, 
varies in different parts of the chain ; is least in 



IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 65 

the back, where strength, more than flexure, is 
wanted ; greater in the loins, which it was neces- 
sary should be more supple than the back ; and 
freatest of all in the neck, for the free motion of the 
ead. Then, secondly, in order to aiford a passage 
for the descent of the medullary substance, each of 
these bones is bored through in the middle in such 
a manner, as that, when put together, the hole in 
one bone falls into a line, and corresponds with the 
holes in the two bones contiguous to it. By which 
means, the perforated pieces, when joined, form an 
entire, close, uninterrupted channel ; at least, 
whilst the spine is upright, and at rest. But, as a 
settled posture is inconsistent with its use, a great 
difficulty still remained, which was to prevent the 
vertebrae shifting upon one another, so as to break 
the line of the canal as often as the body moves or 
twists ; or the joints gaping externally, whenever 
the body is bent forward, and the spine thereupori 
made to take the form of a bow. These dangers, 
which are mechanical, are mechanically provided 
against. The vertebrae, by means of their processes 
and projections, and of the articulations which 
some of these form with one another at their ex- 
tremities, are so locked in and confined, as to main- 
tain, in what are called the bodies or broad sur- 
faces of the bones, the relative position nearly un- 
altered ; and to throw the change and the pressure 
produced by flexion, almost entirely upon the in- 
tervening cartilages, the springiness and yielding 
nature of whose substance admits of all the motion 
which is necessary to be performed upon them, 
without any chasms being produced by a separation 
of the parts. I say, of all the motion which is ne- 
cessary ; for although we bend our backs to every 
degree almost of inclination, the motion of each 
vertebra is very small : such is the advantage we 
receive from the chain being composed of so many 
links, the spine of so many bones. Had it consisted 
of three or four bones only ; in bending the body, 
the spinal marrow must have been bruised at every 
angle. The reader need not be told, that these in- 
tervening cartilages are gristles ; and he may see 
them in perfection in a lorn of veal. Their form also 
favours the same intention. They are thicker be- 



m OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 

fore than behind ; so that, when we stoop forward, 
the compressible substance of the cartilage, yield- 
ing in its thicker and interior part to the force whicli 
squeezes it, brings the surface of the adjoining ver- 
tebrae nearer to the being parallel with one an- 
other than they were before, instead of increasing 
the inclination of their planes, which must have oc- 
casioned a fissure or opening between them. Third- 
ly, for the medullary canal giving out in its course, 
and in a convenient order, a supply of nerves to 
different parts of the body, notches are made in the 
upper and lower edge of every vertebra ; two on 
each edge ; equi-distant on each side from the mid- 
dle line of the back. When the vertebrae are put 
together, these notches, exactly fitting, form small 
holes, through which the nerves, at each articula- 
tion, issue out in pairs, in order to send their 
branches to every part of the body, and with an 
equal bounty to both sides of the body. The fourtli 
purpose assigned to the same instrument, is the in- 
sertion of the bases of the muscles, and the support 
of the ends of the ribs ; and for this fourth purpose, 
especially the former part of it, a figure, specifically 
suited to the design, and unnecessary for the other 
purposes, is given to the constituent bones. Whilst 
they are plain, and round, and smooth, towards the 
front, where any roughness or projection might 
have wounded the adjacent viscera, they run out. 
behind, and on each side, mto long processes, to 
which processes the muscles necessary to the mo- 
tions of the trunk are fixed ; and fixed vyith such 
art, that, whilst the vertebrae supply a basis for the 
muscles, the muscles help to keep these bones in 
their position, or by their tendons to tie them to- 
gether. 

That most important, however, and general pro- 
perty, viz. the strength of the compages, and the 
security again>t luxation, was to be still more spe- 
cially consulted ; for, where so many joints were 
concerned, and where, in every one, a derangement 
would have been fatal, it became a subject of stu- 
dious precaution. For this purpose, the vertebra* 
are articulated, thatis, the moveable joints between 
them are formed by means of those projections of 
their substance, which wc have mentioned under 



IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 6^ 

Je name of processes ; and these so lock w ^j*' 
and overwarp one another, as to secure the bodj 
of?hev3a, notonlyfromaccidentaly supping. 

but even from being pushed out of f J^f ,? ^^ ^^^j'J 
violence short of that which would brea_k 'he bone^ 
I have often remarked and admired this strurtur« 
m thp chine of a hare. In this, as in many in 
tant'sSTla^ observer of the an^al economy 
may spire himself the disgust of ^emg present a 
human dissections, and y^t learn enough foi his m 
formation and satisfaction, by even exam mng the 
bones of the animals which come upon his table^ 
Let him take, for example into his hands a piece 
of the clean-picked bone of a hare's back : consist- 
ing, we will suppose, of three vertebra. He ^^ 
find the middle bone of the three so nnplicated b> 
means of its projections or processes, with the 
S)ne on each side of it, that no pressure whicli he 
can use, will force it out of its place between hem. 
It will give way neither forward, nor backward, 
noron either side. In whichever direction he 
pushes, he perceives, in the form, or junction, or 
over-lapping, of the bones, an impediment opposed 
to his attempt ; a check and guard against disloca- 
tion. In one part of the spine, he will find a still 
farther fortifying expedient, in the mode according 
to which the ribs a^-e annexed to the spine. Each 
rib rests upon two vertebra. That is the thm^ to 
be remarked, and any one may remark it m carving 
a neck of mutton. The manner of it is this : the 
end of the rib is divided by a middle ndge into tvvo 
surfaces; which surfaces are lomed to the bodies 
of two contiguous vertebrae, the ridge applying it- 
Self to the intervening cartilage Now this is the 
very contrivance which is employed m the [amou^ 
iron bridge at my door at Bishop-Wearmouth ; and 
for the same purpose of stability ; viz. the cheeks 
of the bars, which pass between the arches, ride 
across the joints, by which the pieces composmg 
each arch are united. Each cross-bar rests upon 
two of these pieces at their place of junction ; and 
by that position resists, at least in one ^direction, 
any tendency in either piece to slip out of its place. 
Thus perfectly, by one means or the other, is the 
danger of slipping laterally, or of being drawn asidu 



63 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 

out of the line of the back, provided against : and 
to withstand the bones being pulled asunder longi- 
tudinally, or in the direction of that line, a strong 
membrane runs from one end of the chain to the 
other, sufficient to resist any force which is ever 
likely to act in the direction of the back, or parallel 
to it, and consequently to secure the whole com- 
bination in their places. The general result is, 
that not only the motions of the human body neces- 
sary for the ordinary offices of life are performed 
with safety, but that it is an accident hardly ever 
heard of, that even the gesticulations of a harlequin 
distort his spine. 

Upon the whole, and as a giiide to those who may 
be inclined to carry the consideration of this sub- 
ject farther, there are three views under which the 
spine ought to be regarded, and in all which it can- 
not fail to excite our admiration. These views relate 
to its articulations, its ligaments, and its perfora- 
tion ; and to the corresponding advantages which 
the body derives from it, for action, for strength, 
and for that which is essential to every part, a se- 
cure communication with the brain. 

The structure of the spine is not in general dif- 
ferent in different animals. In the serpent tribe, 
however, it is considerably varied ; but with a strict 
reference to the conveniency of the animal. For, 
whereas in quadrupeds the number of vertebrae is 
from thirty to forty, in the serpent it is nearly one 
hundred and fifty : whereas in men and quadrupeds 
the surfaces of the bones are flat, and these flat sur- 
faces laid one against the other, and bound tight 
by sinews ; in the serpent, the bones play one 
within another like a ball and socket,* so that they 
have a free motion upon one another in every di- 
rection : that is to say, in men and quadrupeds, 
firmness is more consulted ; in serpents, pliancy. 
Yet even pliancy is not obtained at the expense of 
safety. The back-bone of a serpent, for coherence 
and flexibility, is one of the most curious pieces of 
animal mechanism with which we are acquainted. 
The chain of a watch (I mean the chain which 
passes between the spring-barrel and the fusee,) 

* Der. PbT«. Theol. p. 396. . . ._^ 



IN THE HUMAN FRAME, 69 

which aims at the same properties, is but a bun- 
dling piece of workmanship in comparison with 
that of which we speak. 

IV. The reciprocal enlargement and contraction 
of the chest to allow for the play of the lungs, de- 
pends upon a simple yet beautiful mechanical con- 
trivance, referable to the structure of the bones 
which inclose it. The ribs are articulated to the 
back-bone, or rather to its side projections, oblique- 
ly : that is, in their natural position they bend or 
slope from the place of articulation downwards. 
But the basis upon which they rest at this end be- 
ing fixed, the consequence of the obliquity, or the 
inclination downwards, is, that when they come to 
move, whatever pulls the ribs upwards, necessarily, 
at the same time, draws them out ; and that, whilst 
the ribs are brought to a right angle with the 
spine behind, the sternum, or part of the chest to 
which they are attached in front, is thrust forward. 
The simple action, therefore, of the elevating mus- 
cles does the business : whereas, if the ribs had 
been articulated with the bodies of the vertebrae at 
right angles, the cavity of the thorax could never 
have been further enlarged by a change of their 
position. If each rib had been a rigid bone, arti- 
culated at both ends to fixed bases, the whole chest 
had been immoveable. Keill has observed, that 
the breast-bone, in • an- easy inspiration, is thrust 
out one-tenth of an inch : and he calculates that 
this, added to what is gained to the space within 
the chest by the flattening or descent of the dia- 
phragm, leaves room for forty-two cubic inches of 
air to enter at every drawing-in of the breath. 
When there is a necessity for a deeper and more 
laborious inspiration, the enlargement of the capa- 
city of the chest may be so increased by effort, as 
that the lungs may be distended with seventy or a 
hundred such cubic inches.* The thorax, says 
Schelhammer, forms a kind of bellows, such as 
never have been, nor probably will be, made by 
any artificer. 

V. The patella, or knee-pan, is a curious little 
bone ; in its form and office, unlike any other bone 

* Anat. p. 229. 



:0 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 

of the body. It is circular ; the size of a crown 
piece ; pretty thick ; a little convex on both sides, 
and covered with a smooth cartilage. It lies upon 
the front of the knee ; and the powerful tendons^ 
by which the leg is brought forward, pass through 
it (or rather it makes a part of their continuation,) 
from their origin in the thigh to their insertion in 
the tibia. It protects both the tendon and the joint 
from any injury which either might suffer, by the 
rubbing of one against the other, or by the pressure 
of unequal surfaces. It also gives to the tendons a 
very considerable mechanical advantage, by alter- 
ing the line of their direction, and by advancing it 
farther out from the centre of motion ; and this upon 
the principles of the resolution of force, upon which 
principles all machinery is founded. These are its 
uses. But what is most observable in it is, that it 
appears to be supplemental, as it were, to the 
frame ; added, as it should almost seem, afterward ; 
not quite necessary, but very convenient. It is se- 
parate from the other bones ; that is, it is not con- 
nected with any other bones by the common mode 
of union. It is soft, or hardly formed, in infancy ; 
and produced by an ossification, of the inception or 
progress of which no account can be given from the 
structure or exercise of the part. 

VI, The shoulder 'blade is, in some material re- 
spects, a very singular bone ; appearing to be made 
so expressly for its own purpose, and so indepen- 
dently of every other reason. In such quadrupeds 
as have no collar-bones, which are by far the 
greater number, the shoulder-blade has no bony 
communication with the trunk, either by a joint or 
process, or in any other way. It does not grow to, 
or out of, any other bone of the trunk. It does 
not apply to any other bone of the trunk: (I know 
aot whether this be true of any second bone in the 
body, except perhaps the os hyoides :) in strict- 
ness it forms no part of the skeleton. It is bedded 
in the flesh ; attached only to the muscles. It is 
no other than a foundation bone for the arm, laid 
in, separate, as it were, and distinct, from the ge- 
neral ossification. The lower limbs connect them- 
selves at the hip with bones which form part of 
the skeleton ; but this connexion, in the upper 



IN THE HUMAN FRAxME. 7i 

limbs, being wanting, a basis, whereupon the arm 
might be articulated, was to be supplied by^a de- 
tached ossification for the purpose. 

OF THE JOINTS. 

I. The above are a few examples of bones made 
remarkable by their configuration ': but to almost 
all the bones belong jow^s ; and in these, still more 
clearly than in the form or shape of the bones 
themselves, are seen both contrivance and con- 
triving wisdom. Every joint is a curiosity, and is 
also strictly mechanical. There is the hinge-joint, 
and the mortice and tenon joint ; each as manifest- 
ly such, and as accurately defined, as any which 
can be produced out of a cabinet-maker's shop ; 
and one or the other prevails, as either is adapted 
to the motion which is wanted : e g, a, mortice and 
tenon, or ball and socket joint, is not required at 
the knee, the leg standing in need only of a motion 
backward and forward in the same plane, for whicli 
a hinge-joint is sufficient ; a mortice and tenon, or 
ball and socket joint, is wanted at the hip, that not 
only the progressive step may be provided for, but 
the interval between the limbs may be enlarged or 
contracted at pleasure. Now observe what would 
have been the inconveniency, i. e. both the super- 
fluity and the defectof articulation, if the case had 
been inverted : if the ball and socket joint had been 
at the knee, and the hinge-joint at the hip. The 
thighs must have been kept constantly together, 
and the legs have been loose and straddling. There 
would have been no use, that we know of, in be- 
ing able to turn the calves of the le^s before ; and 
there would have been great conhnement by re- 
straining the motion of the thighs to one plane. 
The disadvantage would not have been less, if the 
joints at the hip and the knee had been both of the 
same sort ; both balls and sockets, or both hinges : 
yet why, independently of utility, and of a Creator 
Who consulted that utility, should the same bone 
(the thigh-bone) be rounded at one end, and chan- 
nelled at the other ? * * 

The hinge-Joint is not formed by a bolt passing 
through the two parts of trie hinge, and thus keep- 



72 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 

ing them in their places ; but by a different expe- 
dient. A strong, tou^h, parchment-like membrane, 
rising from the receiving bones, and inserted all 
round the received bones a little below their heads, 
incloses the joint on every side. This membrane 
ties, confines, and holds, the ends of the bones to- 
gether ; keeping the corresponding parts of the 
joint, i. e. the relative convexities and concavities, 
in close application to each other. 

For the ball and socket-joint, beside the membrane 
already described, there is in some important joints, 
as an additional security, a short, strong, yet flexi- 
ble ligament, inserted by one end into the head of 
the ball, by the other into the bottom of the cup ; 
which ligament keeps the two parts of the joint so 
firmly in their place, that none of the motions which 
the limb naturally performs, none of the jerks and 
twists to which it is ordinarily liable, nothing less 
indeed than the utmost and the most unnatural vio- 
lence, can pull them asunder. It is hardly ima- 
ginable, how great a force is necessary, even to 
stretch, still more to break this ligament ; yet so 
flexible is it, as to oppose no impediment to the 
suppleness of the joint. By its situation also, it is 
inaccessible to injury from sharp edges. As it can- 
not be ruptured; (such is its strength;) so it can- 
not be cut, except by an accident which would se- 
ver the limb. If I had been permitted to frame a 
proof of contrivance, such as might satisfy the most 
distrustful inquirer, I know not whether I could 
have chosen an example of mechanism more um- 
quivocal, or more free from objection, than this 
ligament. Nothing can be more mechanical ; no- 
thing, however subservient to the safety, less ca- 
pable of being generated by the action of the joint. 
I would particularly solicit the reader^s attention tu 
this provision, as it is found in the head of the thigh- 
bone ; to its strength, its structure, and its use. It 
is an instance upon which I lay my hand. One 
single fact, weighed by a mind in earnest, leaves 
oftentimes the deepest impression. For the pur- 
pose of addressing different understandings and dif- 
ferent apprehensions — fbrtfie purpose of sentiment, 
for the purpose of exciting admiration of the Crea- 
tor's works, we diversion our views, we multiph 



IN TPIE HUMAN FRAME. 73 

examples ; but for the purpose of strict arffument^ 
one clear instance is sufficient ; and not only suffi- 
cient, but capable perhaps of generating a firmer 
assurance than what can arise from a divided atten- 
tion. 

Th\8 ginglymus, or hinge-joint, does not, it is ma- 
nifest, admit of a ligament of the same kind with 
that of the ball and socket joint, but it is always 
fortified by the species of ligament of which it does 
admit. The strong, firm, investing membrane^ 
above described, accompanies it in every part : and 
in particular joints, this membrane, which is pro» 
perly a ligament, is considerably stronger on thts 
sides than either before or behind, in order that the 
convexities may play true in their concavities, and 
not be subject to slip sideways, which is the chief 
danger ; for the muscular tendons generally re= 
stram the parts from going farther thaa they ought 
to jjo in tne plane of their motion. In the knee^ 
which is a joint of this form, and of great impor- 
tance, there are superadded to the common provi- 
sions for the stability of the ioint, two strong liga= 
ments which cross each other ; and cross each 
other in such a manner, as to secure the joint from 
being displaced in any assignable direction. " I 
think," says Cheselden, '^ that the knee cannot be 
completely dislocated without breaking the cross 
ligaments."* We can hardly help comparing this 
with the binding up of a fracture, where the fillet is 
almost always strapped across, for the sake of giv- 
ing firmness and strength to the bandage. 

Another no less important joint, and that also of 
the ginglymus sort, is the ankle ; yet though im- 
portant, (in order, perhaps, to preserve the symme- 
try and lightness of the limb,) small, and, on that 
account, more liable to injury. Now this joint is 
strengthened, i. e. is defended from dislocation, by 
two remarkable processes or prolongations of the 
bones of the leg ; which processes form the protu- 
berances that we call the inner and outer ankle.— ^ 
It is part of each bone going down lower than the 
other part, and thereby overlapping the joint : so 
that, if the joint bo in danger of slipping outward, i\ 

* Ches. ^nat. ed. 7tb, p. 4t. 

6 



n OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 

is curbed by the inner projection, i. e. that of the 
tibia ; if inward, by the outer projection, i. e. that 
of the fibula. Between both, it is locked in its po- 
sition. I know no account that can be given of this 
structure, except its utility. Why should the tibia 
terminate, at its lower extremity, with a double end, 
and the fibula the same — but to barricade the joint 
on both sides by a continuation of part of the thick- 
est of the bone over it ? The joint at the shoulder 
compared with the joint at the hip, though both bail 
and socket joints, discovers a difference, in their 
form and proportions, well suited to the different 
oflSces which the limbs have to execute. The cup 
or socket at the shoulder is much shallower and 
flatter than it is at the hip, and is also in part 
formed of cartilage set round the rim of the cup. 
The socket, into which the head of the thigh-bone 
is inserted, is deeper, and made of more solid ma- 
terials. This agrees with the duties assigned to 
each part. The arm is an instrument of motion, 
principally, if not solely. Accordingly the shallow- 
ness of the socket at the shoulder, and the yield- 
ingness of the cartilaginous substance with which 
its. edge is set round, and which in fact composes a 
considerable part of its concavity, are excellently 
adapted for the allowance of a free motion and a 
wide range ; both which the arm wants. Whereas, 
the lower limb, forming a part of the column of the 
body ; having to support the body, as well as to be 
the means of its locomotion ; firmness was to be 
consulted, as well as action. With a capacity for 
motion in all directions, indeed, as at the shoulder, 
but not in any direction to the same extent as in the 
arm, was to be united stability, or resistance to dis- 
location. Hence the deeper excavation of the sock- 
et ; and the presence of a less proportion of carti- 
lage upon the edge. 

The suppleness and pliability of the joints, we 
every moment experience ; and the JirmTiess of ani- 
mal articulation, the property we have hitherto 
been considering, may be judged of from this single 
observation, that, at any given moment of time, 
there are millions of animal joints in complete re- 
pair and use, for one that is dislocated ; and this, 
notwithstanding the contortions and wrenches to 



IxN THE HUMAN FRAME. 75 

which the limbs of animals are continually sub- 
ject. 

II. The joints, or rather the ends of the bones 
which form them, display also, in their configura- 
tion, another use. The nerves, blood-vessels, and 
tendons, which are necessary to the life, or for the 
motion of the limbs, must, it is evident, in their way 
from the trunk of the body to the place of their des« 
tination, travel over the moveable joints ; and it is 
no less evident, that, in this part of their course, 
they will have, from sudden motions and from ab- 
rupt changes of curvature, to encounter the danger 
of compression, attrition, or laceration. To guard 
fibres so tender against consequences so injurious, 
their path is in those parts protected with peculiar 
care ; and that by a provision, in the figure of the 
bones themselves. The nerves which supply the 
fore-ami, especially the inferior cubital nerves, are 
"at the elbow conducted, by a kind of covered way, 
between the condyls, or rather under the inner ex- 
tuberances of the bone which composes the upper 
part of the arm.* At the knee, the extremity of the 
thigh-bone is divided by a sinus or cliff into two 
heads or protuberances : and these heads on the 
back part stand out beyond the cylinder of the bone. 
Through the hollow, which lies between the hind 

{)arts of these two heads, that is to say, under the 
lam, between the ham-strings, and within the con- 
cave recess of the bone formed by the extuberances 
on each side ; in a word, along a defile, between 
rocks, pass the great vessels and nerves which go 
to the leg.f Who led these vessels by a road so 
defended and secured ? In the joint at the shoulder, 
in the edge of the cup which receives the head of 
the bone, is a notch, which is joined or covered at 
the top with a ligament. Through this hole, thus 
guarded, the blood-vessels steal to their destination 
in the arm. instead of mounting over the edge of the 
concavity.; 

III. In all joints, the ends of the bones, which 
work against each other, are tipped with gristle. 
In the ball and socket joint, the cup j|fclined, and 
the ball capped with it. The smooth Wrface, the 

*■ * Che», Anat. j\ 255. od. 7. ^ lb. p. 35. + lb. p- 3D. ? 



76 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGExMENT 

elastic and unfriable nature of cartilage, render i' 
of all substances the most proper for the place and 
purpose. I should, therefore, have pointed this out 
amongst the foremost of the provisions which have 
been made in the joints for the facilitating of their 
action, had it not been alleged, tliat cartilage in 
truth is only nascent or imperfect bone ; and that 
the bone in these places is kept soft and imperfect, 
in consequence of a more complete and rigid ossi- 
iication being prevented from taking place by the 
continual motion and rubbing of the surfaces : 
which bein^ so, what we represent as a designed 
advantage, is an unavoidable effect. I am far from 
being convinced that this is a true account of the 
fact ; or that, if it were so, it answers the argu- 
ment. To me, the surmounting of the ends of the 
bones with gristle, looks more like a plating with a 
different metal, than like the same metal kept in a 
different state by the action to which it is exposed. 
At all events, we have a great particular benefit, 
though arising from a general constitution : but 
this last not bein^ quite what my argument re» 
quires, lest I should seem by applying the instance 
to overrate its value, I have thought it fair to state 
the question which attends it. 

IV. In some joints, very particularly in the 
knees, there are loose cartilages or gristles between 
the bones, and within the joint, so that the ends of 
the bones, instead of working upon one another, 
work upon the intermediate cartilages. Chesel- 
den has observed,* that the contrivance of a loose 
ring is practised by mechanics, where the friction 
of the joints of any of their machines is great : as 
between the parts of crook-hinges of large gates, or 
under the head of the male screw of large vices. 
The cartilages of which we speak, have very mucli 
of the form of these rings. The comparison more- 
over shows the reason why we find them in the 
knees rather than in other joints. It is an expe- 
dient, we have seen, which a mechanic resorts to, 
only when some strong and heavy work is to be 
done. SBiere the thigh-bone has to achieve its 



hen S( 
I at^h 



motion a^he knee, whh the whole weight of tlu 

Che?. Anat. p. 13. ed 



IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 7/ 

body pressing upon it, and often, as in rising from 
our'seat, with the whole weight of the body to lift. 
It should seem also, from Cheselden's account, 
that the slipping and sliding of the loose cartilages, 
though it be probably a small and obscure change, 
humoured the motion of the end of the thigh-bone, 
under the particular configuration which was ne- 
cessary to be given to it for the commodious action 
of the tendons ; (and which configuration requires 
what he calls a variable socket, that is, a concavity, 
the lines of which assume a different curvature in 
different inclinations of the bones.) 
V. We have now done with the configuration : 
il but there is also in the joints, and that common to 
jj them all, another exquisite provision, manifestly 
I adapted to their use, and concerning which there 
j can, I think, be no dispute, namely, the regular 
I supply of a mticila^e, more emollient and slippery 
I than oil itself, which is constantly softening and lu- 
I bricating the parts that rub upon each other, and 
I thereby diminishing the effect of attrition in the 
highest possible degree. For the continual secre- 
tion of this important liniment, and for the feeding 
of the cavities of the joint with it, glands are fixed 
near each joint; the excretory ducts of which 
glands, dripping with their balsamic contents, hang 
loose like fringes> within the cavity of the joints, 
A late improvement in what are called friction- 
wheels, which consist of a mechanism so ordered, 
as to be regularly dropping oil into a box, which 
incloses the axis, the nave, and certain balls upon 
which the nave revolves, maybe said, in some sort, 
to represent the contrivance in the animal joint ; 
with this superiority, however, on the part of the 
ioint, viz. that here, the oil is not only dropped, 
out made. 

In considering the joints, there is nothing, per- 
haps, which ought to move our gratitude more than 
the reflection, hcnv well they wear. A limb shall 
swing upon its hinge, or play in its socket, many 
hundred times in an hour, for sixty years together, 
without diminution of its agility : which is a lone 
time for any thing to last ; for any thing so much 
worked and exercised as the joints are. This dura- 
bilify I should attribute, in part, to the provisioii 



78 OF THE MUSCLES. 

which is made for the preventing of wear and tear, 
first, by the polish of the cartilaginous surfaces , 
secondly, by the healing lubrication of the muci- 
lage ; and, in part, to that astonishing property ol 
animal constitutions, assimilation, by which, in 
every portion of the body, let it consist of what it I 
will, substance is restored, and waste repaired. 

Moveable joints, I think, compose the curiosity 
of bones ; but their union, even where no motion 
is intended or wanted, carries marks of mechan- | 
ism and of mechanical wisdom. The teeth, espe- 
cially the front teeth, are one bone fixed in another, | 
like a peg driven into a board. The sutures of the 
skull are like the edges of two saws clapped to- 
gether, in such a manner as that the teeth of one 
enter the intervals of the other. We have some- 
times one bone lapping over another, and planed 
down at the edges : sometimes also the thin lamella 
of one bone received into a narrow furrow of an- 
other. In all which varieties, we seem to discover 
the same design, viz. firmness of juncture, without 
clumsiness in the seam. 



CHAP. IX. 

Of the muscles. 

Muscles, with their tendons, are the instruments 
by which animal motion is performed. It will be 
our business to point out instances in which, and 
properties with respect to which, the disposition of 
these muscles is as strictly mechanical, as that of 
the wires and strings of a puppet. 

I. We may observe, what I believe is universal, 
an exact relation between the joint and the muscles 
which move it. Whatever motion the joint, by its 
mechanical construction, is capable of performing, 
that motion, the annexed muscles, by their posi- 
tion, are capable of producing. For example; if 
there be, as at the knee and elbow, a hinge-joint; 
capable of motion only in the same plane, the lead- 
ers, as they are called, i. e. the muscular tendons, 
are placed in directions parallel to the bone, so as, 
by the contraction or relaxation of the muscles to 



OF THE MUSCLES, 79 

vKich. they belong, to produce that motion and no 
)ther. If these joints were capable of a freer mo- 
; :ion, there are no muscles to produce it. Whereas 
lit the shoulder and the hip, where the ball and 
pocket joint allows by its construction of a rotatory 
br sweeping motion, tendons are placed in such a 
position, and pull in such a direction, as to produce 
Uhe motion of which the joint admits. For instance, 
ihe sartorius or tailor's muscle, rising from the 
f spine, running diagonally across the thigh, and tak- 
[inghold of the inside of the main bone of the leg, a 
fiittie below the knee, enables us, by its contrac- 
^tion, to throw one leg and thigh over the other ; 
pving effect; at the same time, to the ball and 
pocket joint at the hip, and the hinge-joint at the 
^'knee. There is, as we have seen, a specific me- 
jchanism in the bones, for the rotatory motions of 
the head and hands : there is, also, in the oblique 
'direction of the muscles belonging to them, a spe- 
cific provision for the putting of this mechanism of 
'the bones into action. And mark the consent of 
jses. The oblique muscles would have been ineffi- 
cient without that particular articulation : that par" 
ticular articulation would have been lost, without 
the oblique muscles. It may be proper however to 
Dbserve, with respect to the head, although I think 
it does not vary the^ case, that its oblique motions 
md inclinations are often motions in a diagonal, 
produced by the joint action of muscles lying in 
straight directions. But whether the pull be sin- 
jf le or combined, the articulation is always such, as 
jto be capable of obeying the action of the muscles, 
'jThe oblique muscles attached to the head, are like- 
wise so disposed, as to be capable of steadying the 
globe, as well as of moving it. The head of a new- 
born infant is often obliged to be filleted up. After 
iieath, the head drops and rolls in every direction. 
So that it is by the equilibre of the muscles, by the 
"aid of a considerable and equipollent muscular 
jforce in constant exertion, that the head maintains 
its erect posture. The muscles here supply what 
would otherwise be a great defect in the articula- 
tion : for the joint in the neck, although admirably 
adapted to the motion of the head, is insufficient 
for its support. It is not only by the means of a 



80 OF THE MUSCLES. 

most curious structure of the bones that a man 
turns his head, but by virtue of an adjusted muscu- 
lar power, that he even holds it up. 

As another example of what we are illustrating, 
viz. conformity of use between the bones and the 
muscles, it has been observed of the different verte- 
brse, that their processes are exactly proportioned 
to the quantity of motion which the other bones 
allow of, and which the respective muscles are ca- 
pable of producing. 

II. A muscle acts only by contraction. Its force 
is exerted in no other way. When the exertion 
ceases, it relaxes itself, that is, it returns by re- 
laxation to its former state ; but without energy. 
This is the nature of the muscular fibre : and being 
so, it is evident that the reciprocal energetic motion 
of the limbs, by which we mean motion ivith farce 
in opposite directions, can only be produced by the 
instrumentality of opposite or antagonist muscles ; 
of flexors and extensors answering to each other. 
For instance, the biceps and brachiseus internus 
muscles placed in the front part of the upper arm, 
by their contraction, bend the elbow ; and with 
such degree of force, as the case requires, or the 
strength admits of. The relaxation of these mus- 
cles, after the effort, would merely let the fore-arm 
drop down. For the back strekey therefore, and 
that the arm may not only bend at tlie elbow, but 
also extend and straighten itself, with force, other 
muscles, the longus and brevis brachiaeus extemus 
and the anconaeus, placed on the hinder part of 
the arms, by their contractile twitch fetch back the 
fore-arm into a straight line with the cubit, with no 
less force than that with which it was bent out of it. 
The same thing obtains in all the limbs, and in 
every moveable part of the body. A linger is not 
bent and straightened, without the ccnUraciion of 
two muscles taking place. It is evident, therefore, 
that the animal functions require that particular 
disposition of the muscles which we describe by 
the name of antagonist muscles. And they are ac- 
cordingly so disposed. Every muscle is provided 
with an adversary. They act. like two sawyers in 
a pit, by an opposite pull : ana nothing surely can 
mc^re slfongty mdicate design and attention to an 



OF THE MUSCLES, 8^ 

end, than their being thus stationed, than this collo- 
cation. The nature of the muscular fibre being 
what it is, the purposes of the animal could be an- 
swered by no other. And not only the capacity for 
motion, but the aspect and symmetry of the body, 
is preserved by the muscles being marshalled ac* 
cording to this order ; e. g. the mouth is h olden in 
the middle of the face, and its angles kept in a state 
of exact correspondency, by two muscles drawing 
against, and balancing each other. In a hemiplegia, 
%viien the muscle on one side is weakened, the 
muscle on the other side draws the mouth awry. 

III. Another property of the muscles, which 
could only be the result of care, is, their being al- 
most universally so disposed, as not to obstruct or 
interfere with one another's action. I know but 
one instance in which this impediment is perceived. 
We cannot easily swallow whilst we gape. This, 
I understand, is owing to the muscles employed in 
the act of deglutition being so implicated with the 
muscles of the lower jaw, that, whilst these las- 
are contracted, the former cannot act with freedom 
The obstruction is, in this instance, attended with 
little inconveniency ; but it sliows what the effect 
is where it does exist ; and what loss of facultj 
there would be if it were more frequent. Now wheij 
we reflect upon the number of muscles, not fewer 
than four hundred and forty-six in the human body, 
known and named,* how contiguous they lie to 
each other, in layers, as it were, over one another, 
crossing one another, sometimes imbedded in one. 
another, sometimes perforating one another ; ar. 
arrangement, which leaves to each its liberty, an(! 
its full play, must necessarily require meditatioi 
and counsel. 

IV. The following is oftentimes the case with tlu-. 
muscles. Their action is wanted, where their situa- 
tion would be inconvenient. In which case, tht; 
body of the muscle is placed in some commodious- 
position at a distance, and made to communicate 
with the point of action, by slender strings or wires, 
If the muscles which move the fingers had beer 
placed in the palm or back of the hand, they woulr 

^ Keill's Anatomj, p. 2?5. ed. 3. 

7 



32 OF THE MUSCLES 

have swelled that part to an awkward and clumsy 
thickness. The beauty, the proportions of the part^ 
would have been destroyed. They are therefore 
disposed in the arm, and even up to the elbow ; and 
act by long tendons, strapped down to the wrist, 
and passing under the ligaments to the fingers, 
and to the joints of the fingers, which they are se- 
verally to move. In like manner, the 'muscles 
which move the toes, and many of the joints of the 
foot, how gracefully are they disposed" in the calf 
of the leg, instead of forming an unwieldy tumefac- 
tion in the foot itself! The observations maybe 
repeated of the muscle which draws the nictitating 
membrane over the eye. Its office is in the front of 
the eye ; but its body is lodged in the back part of 
the globe, v/here it lies safe, and where it encum- 
bers nothing. 

V. The great mechanical variety in the figure of 
the muscles may be thus stated. It appears to be 
a fixed law, that the contraction of a muscle shall 
be towards its centre. Therefore the subject for 
mechanism on each occasion is, so to modify the 
figure, and adjust the position of the muscle, as to 
produce the motion required, agreeably with this 
law. This can only be done by giving to different 
muscles a diversity of configuration, suited to their 
several offices, and to their situation with respect to 
the work which they have to perfonn. On which 
account we find them under a multiplicity of forms 
and attitudes ; sometimes with double, sometimes 
with treble tendons, sometimes with none : some- 
times one tendon to several muscles, at other times 
one muscle to several tendons. The shape of the 
organ is susceptible of an incalculable variety, 
whilst the original property of the muscle, the law^ 
and line of its contraction, remains the same, and is 
simple. Herein the muscular system may be said 
to bear a perfect resemblance to our works of art. 
An artist does not alter the native quality of his 
materials, or their laws of action. He takes these 
as he finds them. His skill and ingenuity are em- 
ployed in turning them, such as they are, to his ac- 
count, by giving to the parts of his machine a form 
and relation, in which these unalterable properties 



OF THE MUSCLES. 83 

may operate to the production of the effects in- 
tended. 

VI. The ejaculation can never too often be re- 
peated — How many things must go right for us to 
be an hour at ease ! how many more for us to be 
vigorous and active ! Yet vigour and activity arC; 
in a vast plurality of instances, preserved in human 
bodies, notwithstanding that they depend upon so 
great a number of instruments of motion, and not^ 
withstanding that the defect or disorder sometimes 
of a very small instrument, of a single pair, for in- 
stance, out of the four hundred and forty-six mus- 
cles which are employed, may be attended with 
grievous inconveniency. There is piety and good 
sense in the following observation, taken out of the 
Religious Philosopher : ^' With much compassion," 
says this writer, '^as well as astonishment at the 
goodness of our loving Creator, have I considered 
the sad state of a certain gentleman, who, as to the 
rest, was in pretty good health, but only wanted 
the use of these two little muscles that serve to lift 
up the eyelids, and so had almost lost the use of 
his sight, being forced, as long as this defect lasted, 
to shove up his eyelids every moment with his own 
hands !" — In general we may remark in how small 
a degree those, who enjoy the perfect use of their 
organs, know the comprehensiveness of the bless- 
ing, the variety of their obligation. They perceive 
a result, but they think little of the multitude of 
concurrences and rectitudes which go to form it. 

Besides these observations, which belong to the 
muscular organ as such, we may notice some ad- 
vantages of structure which are more conspicuous 
in muscles of a certain class or description tha^ in 
others. Thus : 

1. The variety, quickness, and precision, of 

which muscular motion is capable, are seen, 1 

think, in no part so remarkably as in the tonM^ue 

It is worth any man's while to watch the agility 

«iOf his tongue ; the wonderful promptitude with 

r*' which it executes changes of position, and the per- 

A^j'fect exactness. Each syllable of articulated sound 

j^.requires for its utterance a specific action of the 

^tongue and of the parts adjacent to it. The dispu- 

^ -iftion and configuration of tho mouth, appertaining 



84 OF THE MUSCLES. 

to every letter and word; is not only peculiar, but, 
if nicely and accurately attended to, perceptible to 
the sifflit i in so much, that curious persons have 
availed themselves of this circumstance to teach the 
deaf to speak, and to understand what is said^ by 
others. In the same person, and after his habit of 
speaking is formed, one, and only one, position of 
the parts, will produce a given articulate sound 
correctly. How instantaneously are these posi- 
tions assumed and dismissed ; how numerous are 
the permutations, how various, yet how infallible ! 
Arbitrary and antic variety is not the thing we ad- 
mire ; but variety obeying a rule, conducing to an 
effect, and commensurate with exigencies infinitely 
diversified. I believe also that the anatomy of the 
tongue corresponds with these observations upon 
its activity. The muscles of the tongue are so 
numerous, and so implicated with one another, that 
they cannot be traced by the nicest dissection ; 
nevertheless, (which is a great perfection of the 
organ,) neither the number, nor the complexity, 
nor what might seem to be the entanglement of its 
fibres, in any wise impede its motion, or render the 
determination or success of its eiforts uncertain. 



I liere entreat the reader's permission to step a 
little out of my way, to consider the parts of the 
viouth, in some of their other properties. It has 
been said, and tliat by an emment physiologist, 
that whenever nature attempts to work two or 
mo^^ui*poses by one instrument, she does both or 
all imperfectly. Is this true of the tongue, regard- 
ed as an instrument of speech, and of taste ; or 
regarded as an instrument of speech, of taste, and 
of "deglutition ? So much otherwise, that ma'^iy 
p^i^pns, that is to say, nine hundred and ninety- 
nine persons out of a thousand, by the instrumen- 
tality of this one organ, talk, and las'te, and swal- 
low, very well. In fact, the constant waraith and 
moisture of the tongue, the thinness of. the skin, 
the po.pillai upon its surface; qualify this organ for 
's office of tasting, as much as its inextricable 
iultiplicitv of fibres do fjr the rapid movements 

f 



p 



OF THE BIUSCLES. 85 

which are necessary to speech. Animals which 
feed upon grass, have their tongues covered with a 
perforated skin, so as to admit the dissolved food 
to the papillae underneath, which, in the mean time^ 
remain defended from the rough action of the un^ 
bruised spiculee. 

There are brought together within the cavitj[ of 
the mouth more distinct uses, and parts executing 
more distinct offices, than I think can be found ly- 
ing so near to one another, or within the same com- 
pass, in any other portion of the body : viz. teeth 
of different shapes, first for cutting, secondly for 
grinding ; muscles, most artificially disposed for 
carrying on the compound motion of the lower jaw, 
half lateral and half vertical, by which the mill is 
worked : fountains of saliva, springing up in dif- 
ferent parts of the cavity for the moistening of the 
food, whilst the mastication is going on : glands, 
to feed the fountains ; a muscular constriction of a 
very peculiar kind in the back part of the cavity, 
for the guiding of the prepared aliment into its pas- 
sage towards the stomach ; and in many cases for 
carrying it along that passage : for, although we 
may imagine this to be done simply by the weight 
of the food itself, it in truth is not so, even in the 
upright posture of the human neck ; and mos|. evi- 
dently is not the case with quadrupeds, with a 
horse for instance, in which, when pasturing, the 
food is thrust upward by muscular strengfn, in- 
stead of descending of its own accord. 

In the mean time, and within the same cavity, is 
going on another business, altogether diiferentTrom 
what is here described, — that' of respiratic^n and 
speech. In addition therefore to all that has been 
mentioned, we have a passage opened, from this 
cavity to the lungs for the admission of air, exclu- 
sively of every other substance ; we have muscles, 
some in the larynx, and without number in the 
tongue, for the purpose of modulating that air 
in its passage, with a variety, a compass, and pre« 
cision, of which no other musical instrument is ca- 
pable. And, lastly, which in my opinion crowns 
the whole as a piece of machinery, we have a spe- 
cific contrivance for dividing the pneumatic part 
from the mechanical; and for preventing one set of 



86 OF THE MUSCLES. 

actions interfering with the other. Where various 
functions are united, the difficulty is to guard 
against the inconveniences of too great com- 
plexity. In no apparatus put together by art, and 
for the purposes of art, do I know such multifari- 
ous uses so aptly combined, as in the natural or- 
ganization of the human mouth ; or where the 
structure, compared with the uses, is so simple. 
The mouth, with all these intentions to serve, is a 
single cavity ; is one machine ; with its parts nei- 
ther crowded nor confused, and each unembarrass- 
ed by the rest : each at least at liberty in a degree 
sufficient for the end to be attained. If we cannot 
eat and sing at the same moment, we can eat one 
moment, and sing the next : the respiration pro- 
ceeding freely all the while. 

There is one case however of this double office, 
and that of the earliest necessity, which the mouth 
alona could not perform ; and that is, carrying on 
^gether the two actions of sucking and breathing. 
Another route therefore is opened lor the air, name- 
ly, through the nose, which lets the breath pass 
backward and forward, whilst the lips, in the act 
of sucking, are necessarily shut close upon the 
body from which the nutriment is drawn. This 
is a circumstance which always appeared to me 
wortliy of notice. The nose would have been ne- 
cessary, although it had not been the organ of 
smelling. The making it the seat of a sense, was 
superadding a new use to a part already w;^nted ; 
was taking a wise advantage of an kn|ecedent and 
a constitutional necessity. 



But to return to that which is the proper subject 
of the present section, — the celerity and precision 
of muscular motion. These qualities may be par- 
ticularly observed in the execution of many species 
of instrumental music, in which the changes pro- 
duced by the hand of the musician are exceedingly 
rapid ; are exactly measured, even when most mi- 
nute ; and display, on the part of the muscles, an 
obedience of action, alike wonderful for its quick- 
ness and its correctness: 



OF THE MUSCLES. ^7 

Or let a person only observe his own hand whils 
he is writing ; the number of muscles^ which are 
brought to bear upon the pen ; how the joint and 
adjusted operation of several tendons is concerned 
in every stroke, yet that five hundred such stroke? 
are drawn in a minute. Not a letter can be turned 
without more than one, or two, or three tendinous 
contractions, definite, both as to the choice of the 
^tendon, and as to the space through which the con- 
traction moves ; yet how current!}^ does the work 
Eroceed ! and when we look at it, how faithful 
ave the muscles been to their duty, how true to 
the order which endeavour or habit hath inculcated ! 
For let it be remembered, that, whilst a man^s hand- 
writing is the same, an exactitude of order is pre- 
served, whether he write well or ill. These two 
instances, of music and writing, show not only the 
quickness and precision of muscular action, but the 
docility. 

II. Regarding the particular configuration ol 
muscles, sphincter or circular muscles appear \o me 
admirable pieces of mechanism. It is the muscu- 
lar power most happily applied ; the same quality 
of the muscular substance, but under a new modifi 
cation. The circular disposition of the fibres it 
strictly mechanical ; but, though the most mechanic- 
al, is not the only thing in sphincters which de- 
serves our notice. The regulated degree of con- 
tractile force with which they are endowed, suffi- 

Xient for retention, yet vincible when requisite, to- 
gether with their ordinary state of actual contrac 
tion, by means of which their dependance upon the 
will is not constant, but occasional, gives to them 
a constitution, of which the conveniency is inep- 
timable. This their semi-voluntary character, is 
exactly such as suits with the wants and functions 
of the animal. 

III. We may also, upon the subject of muscles, 
observe, that many of our most important actions 
are achieved by the combined help of different 
muscles. Frequently, a diagonal motion is produced, 
by the contraction of tendons pulling in the direc- 
tion of the sides of the parallelogram. This is the 
case, as hath been already noticed, with some ot 
the oblique nutations of the head. Sometimes the 



JS OF THE BIUSCLES. 

number of co-operating muscles is very great. Dr 
Xieuentjt, in the Leipsic Transactions, reckons 
ip a hundred muscles that are employed every 
time we breathe ; yet we take in, or let out, our 
breath, without reflecting what a work is thereby 
performed ; what an apparatus is laid in, of instru- 
ments for the service, and how many such contri- 
bute their assistance to the effect ! Breathing with 
ease, is a blessing of every moment ; yet, of all- 
others, it is that which we possess with the least 
consciousness, A man in an asthma is the only 
man who knows how to estimate it. 

IV. Mr. Home has observed,* that the most im« 
portant and the most delicate actions are perform- 
ed in the body by the smallest muscles : and he 
mentions, as his examples, the muscles which have 
been discovered in the iris of the eye, and the drum 
of the ear. The tenuity of these muscles is asto- 
nishing. They are microscopic hairs ; must be 
magnified to be visible ; yet are they real, effective 
muscles ; and not only such, but the grandest and 
most precious of our faculties, sight and hearing, 
depend upon their health and action. 

V. The muscles act in the limbs with what is 
called a mechanical disadvantage. The muscle at 
the shoulder, by which the arm is raised, is fixed 
nearly iu the same manner as the load is fixed upon 
a steelyard, within a few decimals, we will say, of 
an inch, from the centre upon which the steelyard 
turns. In this situation, we find that a very heavy 
draught is no more than sufficient to countervail 
the force of a small lead plummet, placed upon the 
long arm of the steelyard, at the distance of per- 
haps fifteen or twenty inches from the centre, and 
on the other side of it. And this is the disadvan- 
tage which is meant. And an absolute disadvan- 
tage, no doubt, it would be, if the object were, to 
spare the force of muscular contraction. But ob- 
serve how conducive is this constitution to animal 
ionveniency. Mechanism has:;always in view one 
or other of these two purposes; either to move a 
j:reat weight slowly, and through a small space, or 
Tq move a light weight rapidly, through a consider- 

* Phil. Trans, fart i. 1600, p. S. 



. OF THE MUSCLES. 89 

ible sweep. For the former of these purposes, a 
different species of lever, and a different collocation 
of the muscles, might be better than the present ; 
DUt for the second, tho present structure is the true 
5ne. Now so it happens, that the second, and not 
:he first, is that which the occsions of animal life 
Drincipally call for. In what concerns the human 
body, it is of much more consequence to any man 

be able to carry his hand to his head with due 
expedition, than it would be to have the power of 
-aising from the ground a heavier load (of two or 
:hree more hundred weight, we will suppose,) than 
ae can lift at present. This last is a faculty, which/ 
3n some extraordinary occasions, he may desire to 
possess : but the other is what he wants and uses 
jvery hour or minute. In like manner, a husband- 
nan or a gardener will do more execution, by being* 
ible to carry his scythe, his rake, or his flail, with 

1 sufficient despatch through a sufficient space, 
than if, with greater strength, his motions were 
iroportionably more confined and slow. It is the 
same with a mechanic in the use of his tools. It is 
he same also with other animals in the use of their 
imbs. In general, the vivacity of their motions 
.vould be ill exchanged for greater force under a 
:lumsier structure. 

We have offered our observations upon the struc- 
:ure of muscles in general ; we have also noticed 
certain species of muscles : but there are also 
nngle muscles which bear marks of mechanical 
:!ontrivance, appropriate as well as particular. 
Out of many instances of this kind, we select the 
following. 

I. Of muscular actions, even of those which are 
tvell understood, some of the most curious are iri- 
?,apable of popular explanation ; at least, without 
the aid of plates and figures. This is in a great 
measure the case, with a very familiar, but at the 
same time, a very complicated motion — that of the 
loiver jaw ; and with the muscular structure by 
which it is produced. One of the muscles con- 
cerned may, however, be described in such a man- 
ner, as to be, I think, sufficiently comj^rehended for 
our present purpose. The problem is to pull the 
lower jaw rfwcvj. The obvious method should seem 



l^ OF THE MUSCLES. 

to be, to place a straight muscle, viz. to 6x a string 
from the chin to the breast, the contraction of whicti 
would open the mouth, and produce the motion re- 
quired at once. But it is evident that the form and 
liberty of the neck forbid a muscle being laid in 
such a position ; and that, consistently with the 
preservation of this form, the motion, which we 
want, must be effectuated by some muscular me- 
chanism disposed farther back in the jaw. Thn 
mechanism adopted is as follows. A certain mus- 
cle called the diagastric , rises on the side of the 
face, considerably above the insertion of the lower 
jaw, and comes down, being converted in its pro- 
gress into a round tendon. Now it is manifest that 
the tendon, whilst it pursues a direction descending 
towards the jaw, must, by its contraction, pull the 
jaw up, instead of down. What then was to be 
done ? This, we find, is done : the descending ten- 
don, when it is got low enough, is passed through 
a loop, or ring, or pulley, in the os hyoides, and 
then made to ascend ; and, having thus changed itf? 
line of direction, is inserted into the inner part of 
the chin : by which device, viz. the turn at the loop, 
the action of the muscle Kvhich in all muscles is 
contraction) that before would have pulled the jaw 
up, now as necessarily draws it down. '* The 
mouth,'' says Heister, '' is opened by means of 
this trochlea in a most wonderful and elegant man- 
ner." 

II. What contrivance can be more mechanical 
than the following, viz. a slit in one tendon to let 
another tendon pass through it? This structure 
is found in the tendons which move the toes and 
fingers. The long tendon, as it is called, in the foot, 
which bends the first joint of the toe, passes through 
the short tendon which bends the second joint : 
which course allows to the sinew more liberty, mvl 
a more commodious action than it would otherwise 
have been capable of exerting.* There is nothing, 
I believe, in a silk or cotton mill, in the belts, or 
straps, or ropes, by which motion is communicated 
from one part of the machine to another, that is 

-* Ches. .^nat. v. 119, 



OF THE MUSCLES. n 

nore artificial, or more evidently so, than this per- 
'hration. 

III. The next circumstance which I shall men- 
ion, under this head of muscular arrangement, is 
10 decisive a mark of intention, that it alvi^ays ap- 
)eared to me to supersede, in some measure, the ne- 
cessity of seeking for any other observation upon 
he subject ; and that circumstance is, the tendons, 
vhich pass from the leg- to the foot, being bound 
iow^n by a ligament at the ankle. The foot is placed 
It a considerable angle with the leg. It is manifest, 
herefore, that flexible strings, passing along the 
.nterior of the angle, if left to tnemselves, would, 
■pvhen stretched, start from it. The obvious pre- 
/entive is to tie them down. And this is done in 
'act. Across the instep, or rather just above it, the 
'matomist finds a strong ligament, under which the 
endons pass to the foot. The effect of the liga- 
riient as a bandage, can be made evident to the 
'senses ; for if it be cut, the tendons start up. The 
'simplicity, yet the clearness of this contrivance^ its 
'3xact resemblance to established resources of art, 
^lace it amongst the most indubitable manifestations 
pf design with which we are acquainted. 
^ There is also a farther use to be made of the pre- 
sent example, and that is, as it precisely contradicts 
the opinion, that the parts of animals may have been 
all formed by what is called appetency j i. e. endea- 
vour, perpetuated, and imperceptibly working its 
^effect, through an incalculable series of genera- 
tions. We have here no endeavour, but the reverse 
,of it ; a constant renitency and reluctance. The 
endeavour is all the other way. The pressure of 
■the ligament constrains the tendons ; the tendons 
react upon the pressure of the ligament. It is im- 
possible that the ligament should ever have been 
generated by the exercise of the tendon, or in the 
course of that exercise, forasmuch as the force of 
'the tendon perpendicularly resists the fibre which 
confines it, and is constantly endeavouring, not to 
form, but to rupture and displace, the threads of 
which the ligament is composed. 



92 OF THE MUSCLES. 

Keill has reckoned up, in the human body, four 
hundred and forty-six muscles, dissectible and de- 
scribable ; and hath assigned a use to every one of 
the number. This cannot be all imagination. 

Bishop Wilkins hath observed from Galen, that 
there are, at least, ten several qualifications to be 
attended to in each particular muscle ; viz. its pro- 
per figure ; its just magnitude ; its fulcrum ; its 
point of action, supposing the figure to be fixed ; its 
collocation, with respect to its two ends, the upper 
and the lower ; the place ; the position of the wnole 
muscle ; the introducfton into it of nerves, arteries, 
veins. How are things, including so many adjust- 
ments, to be made ; or^ when made, how are they to 
be put together without intelligence ? 

I have sometimes wondered, why we are not' 
struck with mechanism in animal bodies, as readily 
and as strongly as we are struck with it, at first 
sight, in a watch or a mill. One reason of the dif- 
ference may be, that animal bodies are, in a great 
measure, made up of soft, flabby substances, such 
as muscles and membranes ; whereas we have been 
accustomed to trace mechanism in sharp lines, in 
the configuration of hard materials, in the mould- 
ing, chiselling, and filing into shapes, of such ar- 
ticles as metals or wood. There is something 
therefore of habit in the case ; but it is sufficiently 
evident, that there can be no proper reason for any 
distinction of the sort. Mechanism may be dis- 
played in the one kind of substance^ as well as m < 
the other. ' 

Although the few instances we have selected, 
even as they stand in our description, are nothing 
short perliaps of logical proofs of design, yet it must 
not be forgotten, that, in every part of anatomy, 
description is a poor substitute for inspection. It 
is well said by an able anatomist,* and said in re- 
ference to the very part of the subject which we 
have been treating of: — ^' Imperfecta haec musculo- 
rum descriptio, non minus arida est legentibus, 
quam inspectantibus fuerit jucunda eorundem prae-* 
paratio. Elegantissima enim mechanices artincia, 

* Steno, in BlaSc Anat. Animal, p. 2. c, 1. 



i 



OF THE VESSELS, &c. 93 

^reberrmie in ilHs obvia, verbis nonnisi obscure ex* 
jhrimuntur : carnium autem ductu, tendinum colore^ 
msertionum proportione, et trochlearium distribu- 
tione, ocuiis exposita, omnem superant admiratio- 
nem/' 



CHAP. X. 

Of the vessels of animal bodies. 

The circulation of the blood, through the bodies 
of men and ouadrupeds, and the apparatus by which 
it is carriea on, compose a system; and testify a 
contrivance, perhaps the best understood of any 
part of the animal frame. The lymphatic system, 
or the nervous system, may be more subtile and in- 
tricate : nay, it is possible that in their structure 
they may be even more artificial than the sanguife» 
reus ; but we do not know so much about them. 

The utility of the circulation of the blood, I as- 
sume as an acknowledged point. One grand pur- 
pose is plainly answered by it ; the distributing to 
every part, every extremity, every nook and corner 
of the body, the nourishment which is received into 
it by one aperture. What enters at the mouth, 
finds its way to the fingers' ends. A more difficult 
mechanical problem could hardly I think be pro- 
posed, than to discover a methocl of constantly re- 
pairing the waste, and of supplying an accession of 
substance to every part of a complicated machine, 
at the same time. 

This system presents itself under two views ; 
first, the disposition of the blood-vessels, i. e. the 
liiying of the pipes ; and, secondly, the construction 
of the engine at the centre, viz. the heart, for dri- 
ving the blood through them. 

I. The disposition of the blood-vessels, as far as 
regards the supply of the body, is like that ofthe 
\^^ater-pipes in a city, viz. large and main trunks 
iDrapching off by smaller pipes (and these again by 
still narrower tubes) in every direction, and toward? 
cvBry part in which the flui^, which they convey; 
"•^-i be. wanted. So far the water-pipes whicii 
.0 a town rnnv rq^rescnt the vessels which 



k OF THE VESSELS 

'carry the blood from the heart. But there is an; 
other thing necessary to the blood, which is not 
wanted for the water ; and that is, the carrying of 
it back again to its source. For this office, a re- 
versed system of vessels is prepared, which, unit- 
ing at their extremities with the extremities of the 
first system, collects the divided and subdivided 
streamlets, first by capillary ramifications into 
larger branches, secondly, by these branches into 
trunks ; and thus returns the blood (almost exact- 
ly inverting the order in which it went out) to the 
fountain whence its motion proceeded. All which 
is evident mechanism. 

The body, therefore, contains two systems of 
blood-vessels, arteries and veins. Between the 
constitution of the systems there are also two dif- 
ferences, suited to the functions which the systems 
iiave to execute. The blood, in going out, passing 
always from wider into narrower tubes ; and, in 
coming back, from narrower into wider ; it is evi- 
dent, that the impulse and pressure upon the sides 
of the blood-vessel, will be much greater in one 
case than the other. Accordingly, the arteries 
which carry out the blood, are formed of much 
tougher and stronger coats, than the veins which 
bring it back. That is one difference ; the other is 
still more artificial, or, if I may so speak, indicates 
still more clearly, the care and anxiety of the arti- 
ficer. Forasmuch as in the arteries, by reason oi 
the greater force with which the blood is urged 
along them, a wound or rupture would be more 
dangerous than in the veins, these vessels are de- 
fended from injury, not only by their texture, but 
by their situation ; and by every advantage of situ- 
ation which can be ^iren to them. They are buri- 
ed in sinuses, or they creep along grooves, made 
for them in the bones ; for instance, the under edge 
of the ribs is sloped and furrowed solely for the 
passage of these vessels. Sometimes they proceed 
m channels, protected by stout parapets on eacli 
side ; which last description is remarkable in the 
hones of the fingers, these bein^ hollowed out, on 
the under-side, like a scoop^ and with such a con- 
cavity, that the finger may be cut across to the 
^one. without hurting the artery which runs along 



MiMMi^Afe* 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. 9^ 

it. At other times; the arteries pass in canals 
wrought in the substance; and in the very middle 
of the substance, of the bone : this takes place in - 
the lower jaw ; and is found where there would 
otherwise be danger of compression by sudden cur- 
vature. All this care is wonderful; yet not more 
than what the importance of the case required. To 
those who venture their lives in a ship, it has been 
■often said, that there is only an inch-board between 
them and death ; but in tne body itself, especially 
in the arterial system, there is, in many parts, only 
^a membrane; a skin, a thread. For which reason, 
this sy&tem lies deep under the integuments ; 
Kvhereas the veins, in v/hich the mischief that en- 
sues from injuring the coats is much less, lie in ge- 
i\eral above the arteries ; come nearer to the surface ; 
ate more exposed. 

• It may be farther observed concerning the two 
systems taken together, that though the arterial, 
v/ith its trunk and branches and small twigs, may 
be imagined to issue or proceed, in other words, to 
groiv from, the heart ; like a plant from its root, or 
the fibres of a leaf from its foot-stalk, (which how- 
ever, were it so, would be only to resolve one me- 
chanism into another,) yet the venal, the returning 
'^ system, can never be formed in this manner. The 
arteries might go on shooting out from their extre- 
mities, i. (. lengthening and subdividing indefinite- 
ly ; but an inverted system, continually uniting its 
^ streams, instead of dividing, and thus carrying back 
what the other system carried out, could not be re- 
ferred to the same process. 

' II. The next thing to be considered is the engine 
which works this machinery, viz. the heart. For 
our purpose it is unnecessary to ascertain the prin- 
ciple upon which the heart acts. Whether it be 
irritation excited by the contact of the blood, by 
the influx of the nervous fluid, or whatever else be 
the cause of its motion, it is something which is ca- 
pable of producing, in a living muscular fibre, re- 
' ciprocal contraction and relaxation. This is the 
' power wc have to work with : and the inquiry is, 
' now this power is applied in the instance befon' 
' us ? There is provided, in the central part of the 
body, a hollow muscle, invested with spiral fibres, 



^m OF THE VESSELS 

running in both directions, the layers interaectiij^g 
one another ; in some animals, however, appearing 
to be semicircular rather than spiral. By the con- 
traction of these fibres, the sides of the muscular 
cavities are necessarily squeezed toffether, so as to 
force out from them any fluid whicii they may at 
that time contain : by the relaxation of the samQ 
tibres, the cavities are in their turn dilated, and, ol 
course, prepared to admit every fluid which may 
be poured into them. Into these cavities are insert- 
ed the great trunks, both of the arteries which 
carry out the blood, and of the veins which bring 
it back. This is a general account of the appara- 
tus ; and the simplest idea of its action is, that, by 
each contraction, a portion of blood is forced by a 
syringe into the arteries ; and, at each dilatatia|i; 
an equal portion is received from the veins. This 
produces, at each pulse, a motion, and change in 
the mass of blood, to the amount of what the cavity^ , 
contains, which in a full-grown human heart 1 un- ■, 
derstand is about an ounce, or two table-spoons 
full. How quickly these changes succeed one an- 
other, and by this succession now sufficient they , 
are to support a stream or circulation throughout-, 
the system, may be understood by the following 
computation, abridged from KeilPs Anatomy, p. ; 
117. ed. 3. ; " Each ventricle will at least contaim . 
one ounce of blood. The heart contracts four thou- 
sand times in one hour ; from which it follows/ 
that there pass through the heart, every hour, four^ ' 
thousand ounces, or three hundred and fifty pounds . ' 
of blood. Now the whole mass of blood is said to ' ' 
be about twenty -five pounds ; so that a quantity of j 
blood, equal to the whole mass of blood, passes 
through the heart fourteen times in one hour ; 
which is about once every four minutes.'^ Consi- 
der what an afiair this is, when we come to very 
large animals. The aorta of a whale is larger in 
the bore than the main pipe of the water-works a* 
London-Bridge ; and the water roaring in its pr 
sage through that pipe is inferior, in unpetus a; : 
velocity, to the blood gushing from the whale '^ 
heart.-: Hear Dr. Hunter's account of the dissec- 
tion of a whale : — "■ The aorta measured a foot di- 
Jimcter. "Ten or fifteen gallons of blood are thrown 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. 97 

out of the heart at a stroke, with an immenbe velo- 
city ,. through a tube of a foot diameter. The whole 
'idea fills the mind with wonder."* 

The account which we have here stated, of the 
'injection of blood into the arteries by the contrac- 
■tibn, and of the corresponding reception of it from 
."the veins by the dilatation, of the cavities of the 
I lieart, and of the circulation being thereby main » 
tained through the blood-vessels of the body, is 
true, but imperfect. The heart performs this office, 
but it is in conjunction with another of equal curi- 
osity and importance. It was necessary that the 
' blood siiould be successively brought into contact, 
or contiguity, or proximity, with the air. I do not 
know that the chymical reason, upon which this 
necessity is founded, has been yet sufficiently ex- 
plored. It seems to be made appear, that the at- 
mosphere which we breathe is a mixture of two 
kinds of air ; one pure and vital, the other, for the 
purposes of life, effete, foul, and noxious : that 
when we have drawn in our breath, the blood in 
the lungs imbibes from the air, thus brought into 
contiguity with it, a portion of its pure ingredient, 
and, at the same time, gives out the effete or cor- 
rupt air which it contained, arid which is carried 
away, along with the halitus, every time we ex- 
pire. At least ; by comparing the air which is 
breathed from the^lungs, with the air which enters 
the lungs, it is found to have lost some of its pure 
part, and to have brought away with it an addition 
of its impure {)art. Whether these experiments 
satisfy the question, as to the need which the blood 
stands in of being visited by continual accesses of 
air, is not for us to inquire into, nor material to our 
argument : it is sufficient to know, that, in the con- 
stitution of most animals, such a necessity exists, 
and that the air, by some means or other, must be 
mtroduced into a near communication with the 
blood. The lungs of animals are constructed for 
this purpose. They consist of blood-vessels and 
air-vessels,^ lying close to each other ; and when- 
ever there is a branch of the trachea or windpipe. 

* Dr. Hunter's Account of the Dissection of aVThal^ Phi-. 
Tran». . 



98 OF THE VESSELS 

there is a branch accompanying it of the vein and 
artery, and the air-vessel is always in the middle 
between the blood-vessels.* The internal surface 
of these vessels, upon which the application of the 
air to the blood depends, would, if collected and 
expanded, be, in a man, equal to- a superficies of 
fifteen feet square. Now, in order to give the blood 
in its course the benefit of this organization, (and 
this is the part of the subject with which we are 
chiefly concerned,) the following operation takes 
place. As soon as tlie blood is received by the 
heart from the veins of the body, and before that is 
sent out again into its arteries, it is carried, by the 
force of the contraction of the heart, and by means 
of a separate . and supplementary artery, to tli!". 
lungs, and maBe to enter the vessels of the lungs , 
from which, after it has undergone the action, 
whatever it be, of that viscus, it is brougbt back by 
a large vein once more to the heart, in order, wiien 
thus concocted and prepared, to be thence distri- 
buted anew into the system. This assigns to the 
heart a double office. The pulmonary circulation 
is a system within a system ; and one action of the 
heart is the origin of both. 

For this complicated function, four cavities be- 
come necessary ; and four are accordingly provided . 
two, called ventricles, which send out the blood, 
viz. one into the lungs, in the first instance ; the 
other into the mass, after it has returned from the 
lungs ; two others also, called auricles, which re- 
■reive the blood from the veins ; viz. one, as it comes 
immediately from the body ; the other, as the same 
olood comes a second time after its circulation 
through the lungs. So that there are two receiving 
cavities, and two forcing cavities. The structure 
Dfthe heart has reference to the lungs ; for without 
•he lungs, one of each would have been sufficient. 
The translation of the blood in the heart itself is 
after this manner. The receiving cavities respec- 
tively communicate with the forcing cavities, and. 
by their contraction, unload the received blood into 
'.hem. The forcing cavities, when it is their turn 

^ Keiii's Anatomv, p. J2I. 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. 99 

to contract, compel the same blood into the mouths 
of the arteries. 

The account here given will not convey to a 
reader, ignorant of anatomy, any thing like an ac* 
curate notion of the form, action, or use, of the parts ; 
(nor can any short and popular account do this ;) 
but it is abundantly sufficient to testify contrivance ; 
and although imperfect, being true as far as it goes, 
may be relied upon for the only purpose for which 
we offer it, the purpose of this conclusion. 

'' The wisdom of the Creator," saith Hamburgher, 
'^ is in nothing seen more gloriously than in the 
heart." And how well doth it execute its office ! 
An anatomist, who understood the structure of the- 
heart, might say beforehand that it would play ; . 
but he would expect, I think, from the complexity 
of its mechanism, and the delicacy of many of its 
parts, that it should always be liable to derangement, 
or that it would soon work itself out. Yet shall 
this wonderful machine go, night and da}', for eight}- 
years together, at the rate of one hundred thousand! 
strokes every twenty-four hours, having, at every 
stroke, a great resistance to overcome ; and shall 
continue this action for this length of time, without 
disorder and without weariness ! 

But farther : From the account which has been 
given of the mechanism of the heart, it is evident 
that it must require the interposition of valves : 
that the success indeed of its action must depend 
upon these ; for when any one of its cavities con- 
tracts, the necessary tendency of the force will be 
to drive the inclosed blood, not only into the mouth 
of the artery where it ought to go, but also back 
again into the mouth of the vein from which it 
flowed. In like m.anner, when by the relaxation of 
the fibres the same cavity is dilated, the blood 
would not only run into it from the vein, which was 
the course intended, but back from the artery, 
through which it ought to be moving forward. The 
way of preventing a reflux of the fluid, in both 
these cases, is to fix valves, which, like floodgates, 
may open a way to the stream in one direction, and 
shut up the passage against it in another. The 
heart, constituted as it is, can no more work with- 
out valves, than a pump can. When the pistoii 



100 OF THE VESSELS 

descends in a pump, if it were not for the stoppage 
by the valve beneath, the motion would only thrust 
down the water which it liad before drawn' up. A 
similar consequence would frustrate the action of 
the heart. Valves, therefore, properly disposed, 
i. e. properly with respect to the course of the 
blood which it is necessary to promote, are essen_- 
tial to the contrivance. And valves so disposed, are 
accordingly provided. A valve is placed in the com- 
munication between each auricle and its ventricle, 
lest, when the ventricle contracts, part of the blood 
should get back again into the auricle, instead of 
the whole entering, as it ought to do, the mouth of 
the artery. A valve is also fixed at the mouth of 
each of the great arteries which take the blood , 
from the heart ; leaving the passage free, so long 
as the blood holds its proper course forward ; clos- 
insi it, whenever the blood, in consequence of the 
relaxation of the ventricle, v/ould attempt to flow 
back. There is some variety in the construction of 
these valves, though all the valves of the body act 
nearly upon the same principle, and are destined to 
the same use. In general they consist of a thin 
membrane, lying close to the side of the vessel, 
and consequently allowing an open passage whilsi 
the stream runs one way, but thrust out Trom the 
side by the fluid getting "behind it, and opposing the 
passage of the blood, when it would flow the other 
way. Where more than one membrane is employ- 
ed, the diflerent membranes only compose one 
valve. Their joint action fulfils the ofiice of a valve : 
for instance ; over the entrance of the right auricle 
of the heart into the right ventricle, three of tlieso 
ir^kins or membranes are fixed, of a triangular figure, 
the bases of the triangles fastened to the flesh ; the 
sides and summits loose ; but, though loose, con- 
nected by threads of a determinate length, with 
certain small fleshy prominences adjoining. The 
effect of this construction is, that when the ventricle 
contracts, the blood endeavouring to escape in all 
directions, and amongst other directions pressing 
upwards, gets beticeen these membranes and the 
sides of the passage ; and thereby forces them up 
into such a position, as that, together, the^ consti- 
tute^ when raised, a hollow cone, (the strmgs, be* 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. 101 

lore spoken of; hindering them from proceeding or 
separating farther ;) which cone^ entirely, occupy- 
ing the passage, prevents the return of the blood 
into the auricle. A shorter account of the matter 
may be this : so long as the blood proceeds in its 
proper course, the membranes which compose the 
valve are pressed close to the side of the vessel, and 
occasion no impediment to the circulation : when 
the blood would regurgitate, they are raised from 
the side of the vessel^ and, meeting in the middle of 
its cavity, shut up the channel. Can any one doubt 
of contrivance here ; or is it possible to shut our 
eyes against the proof of it. 

This valve, also, is not more curious in its struc> 
ture, than it is important in its office. Upon the 
play of the valve, even upon the proportioned length 
of the strings or fibres which check the ascent of 
the membranes, depends, as it should seem, nothing 
less than the life itself of the animal. We may here 
likewise repeat, what we before observed concern- 
ing some of the ligaments of the body, that they 
could not be formed by any action of the parts them- 
selves. There are cases in which, although good 
uses appear to arise from the shape or configura- 
tion of a part, yet that shape or configuration itself 
may seem to be produced by the action of the part, 
or by the action or pressure of adjoining parts. 
Thus the bend and the internal smooth concavity 
of tlie ribs, may be attributed to the equal pressure 
of the soft bowels ; the particular shape of some 
bones and joints, to the traction of the annexed 
muscles, or to the position of contiguous muscles. 
But valves could not be so formed. Action and 
pressure are all against them. The blood, in it,s 
proper course, has no tendency to produce such 
things ; and in its improper or reflected current, 
has a tendency to prevent their production. Whilsi; 
we see, therefore, the use and necessity of this ma- 
chinery, we can look to no other account of its 
origin or formation than the intending mind of a 
Creator. Nor can we without admiration reflect, 
that such thin membranes, such weak and tender 
instruments as these valves are, should be able to 
hold out for seventy or eighty year^. 



102 OF THE VESSELS 

Here also we cannot consider but with gratitude, 
how happy it is that our vital motions are involun- 
tary. We should have enough to do, if we had to 
keep our hearts beating, and our stomachs at work. 
Did these things depend, we will not say upon our 
effort, but upon our bidding, our care, or our atten- 
tion, they would leave us leisure for nothing else. 
We must have been continually upon the watch, 
and continually in fear ; nor would this constitution 
have allowed of sleep. 

It might perhaps be expected, that an organ so 
precious, of such central and primary importance 
as the heart is, should be defended by a case. The 
fact is, that a membranous purse or bag, made of 
strong, tough materials, is provided for it ; holding 
the heart within its cavity ; sitting loosely and easi- 
ly about it ; guarding its substance, without con- 
fining its motion ; and containing likewise a spoon- 
ful or two of water, just sufficient to keep the sur- 
face of the heart in a state of suppleness and 
moisture. How should such a loose covering be 
generated by the action of the heart ? Does not the 
inclosing of it in a sack, answering no other pur- 
pose but that inclosure, show the care that has been 
taken of its preservation ? 

One use of the circulation of the blood probably 
(amongst other uses) is, to distribute nourishment 
to the different parts of the body. How minute and 
multiplied the ramifications of the blood-vessels, for 
that purpose, are ; and how thickly spread, over at 
least the superficies of the body, is proved by the 
single observation, that we cannot prick the point 
of a pin into the flesh, without drawing blood, i. e. 
without finding a blood-vessel. Nor, internally, is 
their diffusion less universal. Blood-vessels run 
along the surface of membranes, pervade the sub- 
stance of muscles, penetrate the bones. Even into 
every tooth, we trace, through a small hole in the 
root, an artery to feed the bone, as well as a vein to 
bring back the spare blood from it ; both which, 
with the addition of an accompanying ^nerve, form a 
thread only a little thicker than a horse-hair. 

Wherefore, when the nourishment taken in at the 
mouth has once reached, and mixed itself with the 
blood; every part of body is in the way of being 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. 103 

supplied with it. And this introduces another 
grand topic, namely, the manner in which the ali- 
ment gets into the blood ; which is a subject dis- 
tinct from the preceding, and brings us to the con- 
sideration of another entire system of vessels. 

II. For this necessary part of the animal econo- 
my, an apparatus is provided, in a great measure 
capable of being what anatomists call demonstrated^ 
that is, shown in the dead body ; — and a line or 
course of conveyance; which' we can pursue by our 
examinations. 

First, the food descends by a wide passage into 
the intestines, undergoing two great preparations 
on its way : one in the mouth by mastication and 
moisture, — (can it be doubted with what design the 
teeth were placed in the road to the stomach, or 
that there was choice in fixing them in their situa- 
tion ?) the other, by digestion in the stomach itself. 
Of this last surprising dissolution I say nothing ; 
because it is chymistry, and I am endeavouring to 
display mechanism. The figure and position of 
the stomach (I speak all along with a reference to 
the hum.an organ) are calculated for detaining the 
food long enough for the action of its digestive 
juice. It has the shape of the pouch of a bagpipe ; 
lies across the body and the pylorus, or passao^e 
by which the food leaves it, is somewhat higher in 
the body than the cardia, or orifice by which it en- 
ters ; so that it is by the contraction of the muscu" 
lar coat of the stomach, that the contents, after 
having undergone the apphcation of the gastric 
menstruum, are gradually pressed out. . In dogs 
and cats, this action of the coats of the stomach has 
been displayed to the eye. It is a slow and gentle 
undulation, propagated from one orifice of the sto- 
mach to the otiier. For the same reason that I 
omitted, for the present, offering any observation 
upon the digestive fluid, I shall say nothing con- 
cerning the bile or the pancreatic juice, farther 
than to observe upon the mechanism, viz. that from 
the glands in wliich these secretions are elaborated, 
pipes are laid into the first of the intestines, through 
which pipes the product of each gland flows into 
that bowel, and is there mixed with" the aliment, avS 
noon aTmost as it parses the stomach ; adding also 



104 OF THE VESSELS 

as a remark, how grievously this same bile ofiends 
the stomach itself, yet cherishes the vessel that lies 
next to it. 

Secondly, We have now the aliment in the intes- 
tines, converted into pulp ; and, though lately con- 
sisting of ten different viands, reduced to nearly a 
uniform substance, and to a state fitted for yielding 
its essence, which is called chyle, but which ii> 
milk, or more nearly resembling milk than any 
other liquor with which it can be compared. FoV 
the straining off this fluid from the digested aliment 
in the course of its long progress through the body, 
mj^riads of capillary tubes, i. e. pipes as small as 
hairs, open their orifices into tne cavity of every 
part of the intestines. These tubes, which are so 
line and slender as not to be visible unless when 
distended with chyle, soon unite into larger branch- 
es. The pipes, formed by this union, terminate in 
glands, from which other pipes of a still larger dia- 
meter arising, carry the chyle from all parts, into a 
common reservoir or receptacle. This receptacle is ? 
a bag of size enough to hold about two table-spoons 
. full ; and from this vessel a duct or main pipe pro- 
ceeds, climbing up the back part of the chest, | 
and afterward creeping along the gullet till it j 
reach the neck. Here it meets the river : here it 
discharges itself into alar^e vein, which soon con- 
veys the chyle, now. flowing along with the old 
blood, to the heart. This whole route can be exhi- 
bited to the eye ; nothing is left to be supplied by 
imagination or conjecture. Now, beside the sub- 
serviency of this structure, collectively considered, 
to a manifest and necessary purpose, we may re- 
mark two or three separate particulars in it, which 
show not only the contrivance, but the perfection 
of it. We may remark, first, the length of the in- 
testines, which, in the human subject, is six times 
that of the body. Simply for a passage, these volu- 
minous bowels, this prolixity of gut, seems in no . 
wise necessary ; but in order to allow time and 
space for the successive extraction of the chyle 
from the digested aliment, namely, that the chyle 
which escapes the lacteals of one part of the guts 
may be taken up by those of some other part, the 
length of the canal is of evident use send corflycivc- 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. 105 

ness. Secondly; we must also remark their peris- 
taltic motion ; which is made up of contractions, 
following one another like waves upon the surface 
of a fluid, and not unlike what we observe m the 
body of an earth-worm crawling along the ground : 
and which is effected by the joint action of longitu- 
dinal and of spiral, or rather perhaps of a great 
number of separate semicircular fibres. 1 nis cu- 
Vious action pushes forward the grosser part ot the 
aliment, at the same time that the more subtile parts, 
which we call chyle, are, by a series of gentle com- 
pressions, squeezed into the narrow orifices o the 
lacteal veins. Thirdly, it was necessary that these 
tubes, which we denominate lacteals, or their 
mouths at least, should be made as narrow as pos^ 
sible, in order to deny admission into the blood to 
any particle which is of size enough to make a 
lodgment afterward in the small arteries, and there- 
by to obstruct the circulation : and it was also ne= 
cessary that this extreme tenuity should be com- 
pensated by multitude ; for a large quantity of chyle 
(in ordinary constitutions, not less, it has been 
computed, than two or three quarts in a day) is, by 
some means or other, to be passed through them 
Accordingly, we find the number of the lacteals ex 
ceeding all powers of computation ; and their pipes 
so fine and slender, as not to be visible, unless filled. 
1 the naked eye ; and their orifices, which open 
into the intestines, so small, as not to be discerni- 
ble even by the best microscope. Fourthly, the 
main pipe which carries the chyle from the reser- 
voir to the blood, viz. the thoracic duct, being fixed 
in an almost upright position, and wanting that ad- 
vantage of propulsion which the arteries possess, is 
furnished with a succession of valves to check the 
ascending fluid, when once it has passed them, from 
falling back. These valves look upward, so as to 
leave the ascent free, but to prevent the return of 
the chyle, if, for want of sufficient force to push it 
on, its weight should at any time cause it to descend. 
Fifthly, the chyle enters the blood in an odd place, 
but perhaps the most commodious place possible, 
viz. at a large vein in the neck, so situated with re, 
spect to the circulation, as speedily to bring the 
:nixture to the heart. And this seems to be a cir 
9 



106 OF THE VESSELS 

cumstance of great moment ; for had the chyle en- 
tered the blood at an artery, or at a distant vein, 
the fluid, composed of the old and the new mate- 
rials, must have performed a considerable part of 
the circulation, before it received that churning in 
the lungs, vi^hich is, probably, necessary for the in- 
timate and perfect union of the old blood with the' 
recent chyle. Who could have dreamt of a com- 
munication between the cavity of the intestines and 
the left great vein of the neck ? Who could have 
suspected that this communication should be the 
medium through which all nourishment is derived 
to the body ; or this the place, where, by a side in- 
let, the important junction is formed between the 
blood and the material which feeds it ? 

We postponed the consideration of digestioji, 
lest it should interrupt us in tracing the course of 
the food to the blood ; but in treating of the ali- 
mentary system, so principal a part of the process 
cannot be omitted. 

Of the gastric juice, the immediate agent by 
which that change which food undergoes in our 
stomachs is effected, we shall take our account 
from the numerous, careful, and varied experi- 
ments of the Abbe Spallanzani. 

1. It is not a simple diluent, but a real solvent. 
A quarter of an ounce of beef had scarcely touch- 
ed the stomach of a crow, when the solution begun. 

2. It has not the nature of saliva ; it has not the 
nature of the bile ; but is distinct from both. By 
experiments out of the body it appears, that neither 
of these secretions acts upon alimentary substances, ' 
in the same manner as the gastric juice acts. 

3. Digestion is not putrefaction : for the digest- 
ing fluid resists putrefaction most pertinaciously ; 
nay, not only checks its farther progress, but re* 
stores putrid substances. 

4. It is not a fei^mentative process : for the solu- 
tion begins at the surface, and proceeds towards 
the centre, contrary to the order in which fermen- 
tation acts and spreads. 

6. It is .not tne digestion of heat ; for the cold 
maw of a cod or sturgeon will dissolve the shells 
of crabs or lobsters, harder than the sides of t\^ 
Stomach which contains them. 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. 107 

In a word, animal digestion carries about it the 
marks of being a power and a process completely 
suigeneris ; distinct from every other ; at least from 
every chymical process with which we are ac- 
quainted.' And the most wonderful thing about it 
is its appropriation ; its subserviency to the parti" 
cular economy of each animal. The gastric juice 
of an owl, falcon, or kite, will not touch grain ; no. 
not even to finish the macerated and half-digested 
pulse which is left in the crops of the sparrows 
that the bird devours. In poultry, the trituration 
of the gizzard, and the gastric juice, conspire in 
the work of digestion. The gastric juice will not 
dissolve the grain whilst it is whole. Entire grains 
of barley, enclosed in tubes or spherules, are not 
atfected by it. But if the same grain be by any 
means broken or eround, the gastric juice im 
mediately lays hold of it. Here then is wanted, 
and here we find, a combination of mechanism and 
chymistry. For the preparatory grinding, the giz- 
zard lends its mill. Ana as all mill-work should 
be strong, its structure is so, beyond that of any 
other muscle belonging to the animal. The inter- 
nal coat also, or lining of the gizzard, is, for the 
same purpose, hard and cartilaginous. But, foras- 
much as this is not! the sort of animal substance 
suited for the reception of glands or for secretion, 
the gastric juice, in this family, is not supplied, as 
in membranous stomachs, by the stomach itself; 
but by the gullet, in which the feeding glands are 
placed, and from which it trickles down into the 
stomach. 

In sheep, the gastric fluid has no effect in digest- 
ing plants, unless they have been previoushj masticated.^ 
It only produces a slight maceration ; nearly such' 
as common water would produce, in a degree of 
heat somewhat exceeding the medium temperature 
of the atmosphere. But provided that the plant 
has been reduced to pieces by chewing, the gastric 
juice then proceeds with it, firsi by softenmg its 
substance ; next by destroying its natural consis' 
tency ; and lastly,* by dissolving it so completely^ 
as not even to spare the toughest and most stringy 
parts, such as tne nerves of the leaves. 

?3o far our accurate and indefatigable Abbe.— Dr] 



108 OF THE VESSELS 

StevenS; of Edinburgh, in 1777, found, by experi- 
ments tried with perforated balls, that the gastric 
juice of the sheep and the ox sj^eedily dissolved ve- 
getables, but made no impression upon beef, mut- 
ton, and other animal bodies. Dr. Hunter disco- 
vered a property of this fluid, of a most curious 
kind ; viz. that in the stomachs of animals which 
feed upon flesh, irresistibly as this fluid acts upon 
animal substances, it is only upon the dead sub- 
stance that it operates at all. The living fibre suf- 
fers no injury from lying in contact with it. Worms 
and insects are found alive in the stomachs of such 
animals. The coats of the human stomach, in a 
liealthy state, are insensible to its presence ; i^et in 
cases of sudden death, (wherein the gastric juice, 
not having been weakened by disease, retains its 
activity,) it has been known to eat a hole through 
the bowel which contains it.* How nice is this dis- 
crimination of action, yet how necessary ! 

But to return to our hydraulics. 

in. The gall-bladder is a very remarkable con- 
trivance. It is the reservoir of a canal. It does 
not form the channel itself, 2. e. the direct commu- 
nication between the liver and the intestine, which 
is by another passage, viz. the ductus hepaticus, 
continued under the name of the ductus communis ; 
but it lies adjacent to this channel, joining it by a 
duct of its own, the ductus cysticus ; by which 
structure it is enabled, as occasion may require, to 
add its contents to, and increase the flow of bile 
into the duodenum. And the position of the gall- 
bladder is such as to apply this structure to the 
best advantage. In its natural situation, it touches 
the exterior surface of the stomach, and conse- 
quently is compressed by the distension of that ves- 
sel : the effect of which compression is to force out 
from the bag, and send into the duodenum, an ex- 
traordinary quantity of bile, to meet the extraordi- 
nary demand which the repletion of the stomach by 
food is about to occasion.f Cheselden describes^ 
the gall-bladder as seated against the duodenum, 
nnd thereby liable to have its fluid pressed out, by 

' Phil Tracs. vol. Ixii. p. 447. t Keill'e Anat. p. 6-}. 

.t Anat. p. 164. 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. loe 

the passage of the aliment through that cavity ; 
which likewise will have the effect of causing it to 
be received into the intestine, at a right time, and 
in a due proportion. j v .i • 

There may be other purposes answered by this 
contrivance ; and it is probable that there are.— 
The contents of the gall-bladder are not exactly ot 
the same kind as what passes from the liver through 
a direct passage.* It is possible that the gall may 
be changed, and for some purposes meliorated, by 
keeDinfif. 

The entrance of the gall-duct into the duodenum 
furnishes another observation. Whenever either 
smaller tubes are inserted into larger tubes, or tubes 
into vessels and cavities, such receiving-tubes, ves- 
sels, or cavities, being subject to muscular con- 
striction, we always find a contrivance to prevent 
res-urgitation. In some cases, valves are used ; in 
other cases, amongst which is that now before us, 
a different expedient is resorted to, which may be 
thus described : The gall-duct enters the duodenuni 
obliquely : after it has pierced the first coat, it runs 
near two fingers' breadth between the coats, before 
it opens into the cavity of the intestine.t The same 
contrivance is used in another part, where there is 
exactly the same occasion for it, viz. in the inser- 
tion of the ureters in the bladder. These enter the 
bladder near its neck, running obliquely for the 
space of an inch between its coats.t It is, in both 
cases, sufficiently evident, that this structure has a 
necessary mechanical tendency to resist regurgita» 
tion : for whatever force acts in such a direction as 
to urge the fluid back into the orifices of the tubes, 
must, at the same time, stretch the coats of the ves- 
sels, and thereby compress that part of the tube 
which is included between them. 

IV. Amongst the vessels of the human body, the 
pipe which conveys the saliva from the place where 
it is made, to the place where it is wanted, deserves 
to be reckoned amongst the most intelligible pieces 
of mechanism with which we are acquainted. The 
saliva, we all know, is used in the mouth : but much 

, * Keill, (from Malpighius,) p. 63. + Keill'a Anat. p- 5- 

i ChcB. Aoat. p. 260. 



110 OF THE VESSELS 

of it is produced on the outside of the cheek, by the 
parotid gland, which lies between the ear and the 
angle of the lower jaw. In order to carry the se- 
creted juice to its destination, there is laid from the 
gland, on the outside, a pipe, about the thickness of 
a wheat straw, and about three fingers' breadth in 
length ; which, after riding over the masseter mus- 
cle, bores for itself a hole through the very middle 
of the cheek ; enters by that hole, which is a com- 
plete perforation of the buccinator muscle, into the 
mouth ; and there discharges its fluid very copi- 
ously. 

V. Another exquisite structure, differing indeed 
from the four preceding instances, in that it does 
not relate to the conveyance of fluids, but still be- 
longing, like these, to the class of pipes or conduits 
of tne body, is seen in the larynx. We all know 
that there go down the throat two pipes, one lead- 
ing to the stomach, the other to the lungs ; the one 
bemg the passage for the food, the other for the 
breath and voice : we know also that both these 
passages open into the bottom of the mouth ; the 
gullet, necessarily, for the conveyance of food ; and 
the wind-pipe, for speech and the modulation of 
sound, not much less so : therefore the difficulty 
was, the passages being so contiguous, to prevent 
the food, especially the liquids, wnich we swallow 
into the stomach, from entering the wind-pipe, i. e. 
the road to the lungs ; the consequence of which 
error, when it does hajjpen, is perceived by the 
convulsive throes that are instantly produced. This 
business, which is very nice, is managed in this 
manner. The gullet (the passage for food) opens 
into the mouth like the cone or upper part of a fun- 
nel, the capacity of which forms mdeed the bottom 
of the mouth. Into the side of this funnel, at the 
part which lies the lowest, enters the wind-pipe, 
by a chink or slit, with a lid or flap, like a little 
tongue, accurately fitted to the orifice. The solids 
or liquids which we swallow, pass over this lid or 
flap, as they descend by the funnel into the gullet. 
Both the weight of the food, and the action of the 
muscles concerned in swallowing, contribute to 
keep the lid close down upon the aperture, whilst 
any thing is passing; whereas, by means of its 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. U^ 

natural cartilaginous spring, U r^^<^^;^ 
Ket^afor^^P--^^^^ 

dient, viz how s^Wom •' f 'Is ot^w pu p , ^^^ 

constantly we breathe In a cuywa, ^^^^ 

ro.\ld not live, nor consequently the parts act, 
Pkher whhout t, or with it^n a half-formed stale. 
The speiles was'not to wait for.tUs C^adual l^rn;^ 
tion or -espansiov. ^f- part which was, from the 
first, necessary to the life of the ind'y'7'j}- , , 

NQtonly is the larynx curious, but the whole 

Vmd-pipc possesses a structure adapted to its pe- 

raUaroLI. It is made up (as any one may per- 

eeve by putting his fingers to 'f ^Jf"") of ^^j 

oartilaiinous ringlets, placed ^^.h?,^ not he 

distances from one another. Now this is not "w 

rase with any other of the numerous conduits o, 

thlMy tL use of these cartilages « to k«ep 

t e nassa-e for the air constantly open ; which they 

Hn mechanically A pipe with soft membranous 

coa^s!l abc to collapse^nd close when empty^ 

would not have an.sWercd here; although this be. 

'he general vascular structure, and a structure 

whicf. serves very well for those tubes which a 

kept in a state of perpetual distension by the lUuc. 



112 OF THE VESSELS 

woX'"ftotiietihl'^ a-ther particularity well 

ot'ac"umb of b?ead nr°«^:i ^""T"' "'^ '°"<='' 

air alone nntli^i^^ ^ ! omce, the intromission of 

as n .0 !"°' >'"'°H"r'^"' qualities, in' thiras wel 
as in sonic ouier delicate tjarts of the body that wp 

Z- °"'" -l^-^^'y ''"'^ our comfort :~,,°7afetyo 
their sensibihty, our comfort to their reposT ^ 

;oStta ,-;^- 1 :lry\zf^fpis 

the w.nd.p,pe,) besides its otlier uses, s'^^o'^amu 

messly adapted to the modulation of sound ■ for it 
has been found upon trial, that, by relax nl or 
tghtening the tendinous bands at the ex Sv of 
the w,nd-p,pe, and blowing in at the otl^^^d^.l 

■.VnJ'^'-""'', ""'•'' ""'^''t ^'^ produced of »Sthe 
ivmg annnal was capable. It can be sounded ,ut' 
us a pipe or flute is sounded. ^""naeUjjua 

.I,?'!'- ii''^^^ Bonnet, have, at the lower end of 
the wmd-pipe, a conformation like the reed of 
Mutboy, for the modulation of the r no'o. i. 



OF ANIMAL BODIES. 113 

tuneful bird is a ventriloquist. The seat of the 
song is in the breast. 

The use of the lungs in the system has been said 
to be obscure ; one use however is plain^ though in 
some sense external to the system, and that is, the 
formation, in conjunction with the larynx, of voice 
and speech. They are, to animal utterance, what 
the bellows are to the organ. 



For the sake of method, w-e have considered ani- 
mal bodies under three divisions ; their bones, their 
muscles, and their vessels : and we have stated our 
observations ujjon these parts separately. But 
this is to diminish the strength of the argument. 
The wisdom of the Creator is seen, not in their se- 
parate but their collective action ; in their mu- 
tual subserviency and dependance, in their contribu- 
ting together to one effect, and one use. It has 
been said, that a man cannot lift his hand to his 
head, without finding enough to convince him of 
the existence of a God. And it is well said ; for 
he has only to reflect, familiar as this action is, and 
simple as it seems to be, how many things are re- 
quisite for the performing of it : how many things 
which we understand, to say nothing of many 
more, probably, which we do not ; viz. first, a long, 
hard, strong cylinder, in order to give to the arm 
its firmness and tension ; but which, being rigid, 
and, in its substance, inflexible, can only turn upon 
joints ; secondly, therefore, joints for this purpose ; 
one at the shoulder to raise the arm, another at th*3 
elbow to bend it ; these joints continually fed with 
a soft mucilage to make the parts slip easily upon 
one another, and holden togetner by strong braces, 
to keep them in their position : then, thirdly^ 
strings and wires, i. e, muscles and tendons, artifi- 
cially inserted for the purpose of drawing the bones 
in the directions in which the joints allow them to 
move. Hitherto we seem to understand the me- 
chanism pretty well ; and, understanding this, we 
possess enough for our conclusion : nevertheless, 
we have hitherto only a machine standing still ; a 
dead organization — an apparatus. To put the sys- 
tem in a state of activity ; to set it at work ; a far- 



114 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 

ther provision is necessary, viz. a communication 
with the brain by means of nerves. We know the 
existence of this communication, because we can 
see the communicating threads, and can trace them 
to the brain : its necessity we also know, because 
if the thread be cut, if the communication be inter- 
cepted, the muscle becomes paralytic : but beyond 
this, we know little ; the organization being too 
minute and subtile for our inspection. 

To what has been enumerated, as officiating in 
the single act of a man's raising his hand to his 
head, must be added likewise, all that is necessary, 
and all that contributes to the growth, nourish- 
ment, and sustentation, of the limb, the repair of 
its waste, the preservation of its health : such as 
the circulation of the blood through every, part of 
it ; its lymphatics, exhalants, absorbents ; its ex- 
cretions and integuments. All these share in the 
result ; ioin in the effect : and how all these, or 
any of tiiem, come together without a designing, 
disposing intelligence, it is impossible to conceive. 



CHAP. XI. 

Of the anmial structure regarded as a viass. 

Contemplating an anim<il body in its collec- 
tive capacity, we cannot forget to notice, what a 
number of instruments are brought together, and 
often within how small a compass. It is a cluster 
of contrivances. In a canary-bird, for instance, 
and in ihe single ounce of matter which coi^pOstrs 
his body (but which seems to be all employed,) 
we have instruments for eating, for digesting, for 
nourishment, for breathing, for generation, for run- 
ning, for flying, for seeing, for hearing, for smell- 
ing ; each appropriate— each entirely different from 
all the rest. 

The human, or indeed the animal frame, consi- 
dered as a mass or assemblage, exhibits in its com- 
position three properties, which have long struck 
my mind as indubitable evidences, not only of de- 
sign, but of a great deal of attention and accuracy 
in prosecuting the design. 



ii 



REGARDED AS A MASS. 115 

I. The first is, the exact correspondency of the 
iwo sides of the same animal : the right hand an- 
swering to the left, leg to leg, eye to eye^ one side 
[or the countenance to the other ; and with a pre- 
cision, to imitate which in any tolerable degree, 
forms one of the difficulties of statuary, and re- 
quires, on the part of the artist, a constant atten- 
tion to this property of his work, distinct from 
every other. , , 

It is the most difficult thing that can be to get a 
wig made even ; yet how seldom is the fcu;e awry 1 
And what care is taken that it should not be so, 
the anotomy of its bones demonstrates. The upper 
part of the face is composed of thirteen bones, six 
on each side, answering each to each, and the thir- 
teenth, without a fellow, in the middle ; the lower 
Eart of the face is in like manner composed of six 
ones, three on each side respectively correspond- 
ing, and the lower jaw in the centre. In building 
an arch, could more be done in order to make the 
curve true, i. e. the parts equi-distant from the 
middle, alike in figure and position ? ... 

The exact resemblance of the eyes, considering 
how compounded this organ is in its structure, how 
various and how delicate are the shades of colour 
with which its iris is tinged ; how differently, as to 
effect upon appearance, the eye may be mounted 
in its socket, and how differently in difierent heads 
eyes actually are set— is a property of animal bo- 
dies much to be admired. Often thousand eyes, I 
do not know that it would be possible to match 
one, except with its own fellow ; or to distribute 
them into suitable pairs by any other selection than 
that which obtains. . 

This regularity of the animal structure is render- 
ed more remarkable by the three following consi- 
derations. First, the limbs, separately taken, have 
not this correlation of parts, but the contrary of it. 
A knife drawn down the chine, cuts the human 
body into two parts, externally equal and alike ; 
you cannot draw a straight line which will divide 
a hand, a foot, the leg, the thigh, the cheek, the 
eye, the ear, into two parts equal and alike. Those 
parts which are placed upon the middle or parti- 
tion line of the body, or which traverse that Ime, as 



116 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 

the nosG; the tongue, the lips, may be so divided 
or, more properly speaking, are double organs 
but other parts cannot. This shows that the cor- 
respondency which we have been describing, doet 
not arise by any necessity in the nature of the sub- 
ject ; for, if necessary, it would be universal ; 
whereas it is observed only in the system or as- 
semblage : it is not true of the separate parts ; that 
is to say, it is found where it conduces to beauty 
or utility ; it is not found, where it would subsist at 
the expense of both. The two wings of a bird al- 
ways correspond : the two sides of a feather fre- 
quently do Lot. In centipedes, millepedes, and the 
whole tribe of insects, no two legs on the same side 
are alike : yet there is the most exact parity be- 
tween the legs opposite to one another. 

2. The next circumstance to be remarked is, that, 
whilst the cavities of the body are so configurated, 
as externally to exhibit the most exact correspond- 
ency of the opposite sides, the contents of these ca- 
vities have no such correspondency. A line drawn 
down the middle of the breast, divides the thorax 
into two sides exactly similar ; yet these two sides 
inclose very different contents. The heart lies on 
the left side ; a lobe of the lungs on the right ; 
balancing each other, neither in size nor shape. 
The same thing holds of the abdomen. The liver 
lies on the right side, without any similar viscus op- 
posed to it on the left. The spleen indeed is situated 
over against the liver ; but agreeing with the liver 
neither in bulk nor form. There is no equipollency 
between these. The stomach is a vessel, both ir- 
regular in its shape, and oblique in its position. 
The foldings and doublings of the intestines do not 
present a parity of sides. Yet that symmetry which 
depends upon the correlation of the sides, is exter^ 
nally preserved throughout the whole trunk ; and 
*is the more remarkable in the lower parts of it, as 
the integuments are soft ; and the shape, conse- 
quently, is not, as the thorax is by its ribs, reduced 
by natural stays. It is evident, therefore, that the 
external proportion does not arise from any equali- 
ty in the shape or pressure of the internal contents. 
What is it indeed but a correction of inequalities ? 
an adjustment; by mutual compensation; of anoma- 



REGARDED AS A MASS, il7 

ous forms into a regular congeries ? the effect, in a 
vord, of artful, and, if we might h<-. permitted so to 
peak, of studied collocation ? 

3. Similar also to this, is the third observation ; 
hat an internal inequality in the feeding vessels is 
10 managed, as to produce no inequality in parts 
vhich were intended to correspond. The right 
irm answers accurately to the left, both in size and 
4iape ; but the arterial branches, which supply the 
?wo arms, do not go off from their trunk, in a pair, 
<n the same manner, at the same place, or at the 
lame ar^le. Under which want of similitude, it is 
yery difficult to conceive how the same quantity of 
3lood should be pushed through each artery : yet 
he result is right ; the two limbs, which are nou- 
ished by them, perceive no difference of supply, no 
effects of excess or deficiency. 
^ Concerning the difference of manner, in which 
he subclavian and carotid arteries, upon the differ- 
mt sides of the body, separate themselves from the 
iorta, Cheselden seems to have thought, that the 
advantage which the left gain by going off at an 
(ingle much more acute than the right, is made up 
,0 the right, by their going off together in one 
Dranch.* It is very possible that this may be the 
compensating contrivance ; and if it be so, how cu- 
rious, how hydrostatical ! 

II. Another perfection of the animal mass is the 
oackage. I know nothing which is so surprising. 
Examine the contents of the trunk of any large ani- 
mal. Take notice how soft, how tender, how in- 
tricate, they are ; how constantly in action, how 
necessary to life ! Reflect upon the danger of any 
injury to their substance, any deran^ment of their 
position, any obstruction to their othce. Observe 
the heart pumping at the centre at the rate of eighty 
strokes in a minute ; one set of pipes carrying the 
stream away from it, another set bringing, in its 
oourse, the fluid back to it again ; thelungs per- 
forming their elaborate oflice, viz. distending and 
contracting their many thousand vesicles, by a re- 
ciprocation which cannot cease for a minute ; the 
stomach exercising its powerful chymistry; the 

■ Ill ■ . II. . 1 . P I fc ^1 1 «« ■!■ I =. 

* Ches. Aiiat. r> ISI. ed. 7, 



118 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 

bowels silently propelling the changed aliment . 
collecting from it, as it proceeds, anatransmittin^ 
to the blood, an incessant supply of prepared and 
assimilated nourishment ; that blood pursuing its 
course ; the liver, the kidneys, the pancreas, the 
parotid, with many other known and distinguish^ 
able glands, drawing off from it, all the while, their 
proper secretions. These several operations, to- 
gether with others more subtile but less capable ot^ 
being investigated, are going on within us, at one 
and the same time. Think of this ; and then ob- 
serve how the body itself, the case which holds this 
machinery, is rolled, and jolted, and tossed about 
the mechanism remaining unhurt, and with very 
little molestation even of its nicest motions. Ob- 
serve a rope-dancer, a tumbler, or a monkey ; the 
sudden inversions and contortions which the 
internal parts sustain by the postures into which 
their bodies are thrown : or rather observe the 
shocks which these parts, even in ordinary sub- 
jects, sometimes receive from falls and bruises, or 
by abrupt jerks and twists, without sensible, or 
with soon-recovered, damage. Observe this, and 
tlien reflect how firmly every part must be secured, 
how carefully surrounded, how well tied down and 
packed together. 

This property of animal bodies has never, I think, 
been considered under a distinct head, or so fully 
as it deserves. I may be allowed therefore, in or* 
der to verify my observation concerning it, to set 
forth a short anatomical detail, though it oblige me 
to use more technical language than I should wish 
to introduce into a work of this kind. 

1. The heart (such care is taken of the centre of 
life) is placed between two soft lobes of the lungs : 
is tied to the mediastinum and to the pericardium ; 
which pericardium is not only itself an exceedingly 
strong membrane, but adheres firmly to the dupli- 
cature of the mediastinum, and, by its point, to the 
middle tendon of the diaphragm. The heart is also 
sustained in its plape by the great blood-vessels 
which issue from it.* 

2. The lungs are tied to the sternum by the me- 

■ " ■■■■ ' ■ — — -■ ■ ■ ' ■' -7 ■^•' 

* Zveill'i Auat. p. !07. sd. 3. 



REGARDED AS A MASS. 115 

diastinum, before ; to the vertebrae by the ple^ura, 
1 behind. It seems indeed to be the very use of the 
mediastinum (which is a membrane that goes 
straight through the middle of the thorax, from the 
breast to the back) to keep the contents of the tho- 
rax in their places; in particular to hmder one 
lobe of the lungs from incommoding another, or the 
parts of the lungs from pressing upon each other 
when we lie on one side.* 
■r 3. The liver is fastened in the body by two liga* 
'ments : the first, which is large and strong, comes 
'from the covering of the diaphragm, and penetrates 
■" the substance of the liver ; the second is the um- 
bilical vein, which, after birth, degenerates into a 
ligament. The first, which is the principa, fixes 
the liver in its situation, whilst the body holds an 
erect posture ; the second prevents it from pressing 
upon the diaphragm when we lie down : and both 
together sling or suspend the liver when we he upon 
our backs, so that it may not compress or obstruct 
the ascending vena cava,t to which belongs the im- 
portant office of returning the blood from the bod>: 
to the heart. , , t ^ 

4. The bladder is tied to the navel by the urachus, 
transformed into a ligament : thus, what was a 
passage for urine to the foetus, becomes, afterbirth, 

• a support or stay to the bladder. The peritonaeum 
' also keeps the viscera from confounding themselves 
with, or pressing irregularly upon, the bladder ; 
for the kidneys and bladder are contained in a dis- 
tinct duplicature of that membrane, being thereby 
partitioned off from the other contents of the abdo- 

5. The kidneys are lodged in a bed of fat. 

6. The pancreas^ or sweetbread, is strongly tied 
to tiie peritonaeum, which is the great wrapping- 
sheet, that incloses all the bowels contained in the 
lower belly. t , . i i. 

7. The spleen also is confined to its place by an 
adhesion to the peritonaeum andd iaphragm, and by 
a connexion with the omentum.ll It is possible, in 
my opinion, that the spleen may be merely o.stuJing, 

* Keill's Anat. p. 119. ed. ?. t Ches. Anat. p. 162, 

i Ibid. p. 57. , (1 Ches. Anat, p. lo-l. 



no OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 

a soft cushion to fill up a vacancy or hollow, whicL 
unless occupied; would leave the package loose and 
unsteady : for supposing that it answers no other 
purpose than this, it must be vascular, and admit 
of a circulation through it, in order to be kept alive, 
or be a part of a living body. 

8. The omentian, epiploon, or cawl, is an apron 
tucked up, or doubling upon itself, at its lowest part. 
The upper edge is tied to the bottom of the stomach, 
to the spleen, as hath already been observed, and 
to part of the duodenum. The reflected edge also, 
after forming the doubling, comes up behmd the 
front flap, and is tied to the colon and adjoining 
viscera.* 

9. The septa of the brain probably prevent one 
part of that organ from pressing with too great a 
weight upon another part. The processes of the 
dura mater divide the cavity of the skull, like so 
many inner partition walls, and thereby confine 
each hemisphere and lobe of the brain to the cham- 
ber which is assigned to it, without its being 
liable to rest upon, or intermix with the neighbour- 
ing parts. The great art and caution of packing, 
is to prevent one thing hurting another. This, in 
the head, the chest, and the abdomen, of an animal 
body, is, amongst other methods, provided for by 
membranous partitions and wrappings, which keep 
the parts separate. 

The above may serve as a short account of the 
manner in which the principal viscera are sustained 
in their places. But of the provisions for this pur- 
pose, by far, in my opinion, the most curious, and 
where also such a provision was most wanted, is in 
the guts. It is pretty evident, that a long narrow 
tube (in man, about five times the length of the 
body) laid from side to side in folds upon one an- 
other, winding in oblique and circuitous direc- 
tions, composed also of a soft and yielding sub- 
stance, must, without some extraordinary precau- 
tion for its safety, be continually displaced by the 
various, sudden, and abrupt motions of the body 
which contains it. I should expect that, if not 
bruised or wounded by every fall, or leap, or twist, 

* Ches. Anat. p. 157. 



REGARDED AS A MASS, 121 

it would be entangled, or be involved with itself; or 
at the least, slipped and shaken out of the order in 
which it is disposed, and which order is necessary 
to be preserved, for the carrying on of the impor- 
tant functions which it has to execute in the animal 
economy. Let us see, therefore, how a danger so 
serious, and yet so natural to the length, narrow- 
ness, and tubular form, of the part, is provided 
against. The expedient is admirable : and it is 
this. The intestinal canal, throughout its whole 
process, is knit to the edge of a broad fat membrane 
called the mesentery. It forms the margin of this 
mesentery, being stitched and fastened to it like 
the edging of a ruffle : being four times as long as 
the mesentery itself, it is what a sempstress would 
call, " puckered or gathered on'^ to it. This is the 
nature of the connexion of the gut with the mesen- 
tery ; and being thus joined to, or rather made a part 
of, the mesentery, it is folded and wrapped up togeth- 
er with it. Now the mesentery having a considerable 
dimension in breadth, being in its substance, withal, 
both thick and suety, is capable of a close and safe 
folding, in comparison of what the intestinal tube 
would admit of, if it had remained loose. The me- 
sentery likewise not only keeps the intestinal canal 
in its proper place and position under all the turns 
and windings of its course, but sustains the num- 
berless small vessels, the arteries, the veins, the 
lympheducts,and above all, the lacteals, which lead 
from or to almost every point of its coats and ca- 
vity. This membrane, which appears to be the 
great support and security of the alimentary appa- 
ratus, is itself strongly tied to the lirst three verte- 
braj of the loins.* 

III. A third general property of animal forms is 
beauty. I do not mean relative beauty, or that of 
one individual above another of the same species, 
or of one species compared with another species; 
but I mean, generally, the provision which is made 
in the body of almost every animal, to adapt its ap- 
pearance to the perception of the animals with 
which it converses. In our own species, for exam- 
ple, only consider what the parts and materials are^ 

* Kcil.'s Aaat. p. -1?= 

10 



122 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 

of which the fairest body is composed; and no far- 
ther observation will be necessary to show how 
w^ell these things are wrapped up^ so as to form a 
mass which shall be capable of symmetry in its 
proportion, and of beauty in its aspect ; how the 
bones are covered, the bowels concealed, the rough- 
nesses of the muscle smoothed and softened ; and 
how over the whole is drawn an integument, which 
converts the disgusting materials of a dissecting- 
room into an object of attraction to the sight, or one 
upon which it rests, at least, with ease and satisfac- 
tion. Much of this effect is to be attributed to the in- 
tervention of the cellular or adipose membrane ;Which 
lies immediately under the skin ; is a kind of lining 
to it ; is moist, soft, slippery, and compressible ; 
every where filling up the interstices of the mus- 
cles, and forming thereby their roundness and flow- 
ing line, as well as the evenness and polish of the 
whole surface. 

All w^hich seems to be a strong indication of de- 
sign, and of a design studiously directed to this 
purpose. And it being once allowed, that such a 
purpose existed with respect to any of the produc- 
tions of nature, we may refer, with a considerable 
degree of probability, other particulars to the same 
intention ; such as the teints of flowers, the plu- 
mage of birds, the furs of beasts, the bright scales 
of fishes, the painted wings of butterflies and 
beetles, the rich colours and spotted lustre of many 
tribes of insects. 

There are parts also of animals ornamental, and 
the properties by which they are so, not subservi- 
*mt, that we know of, to any other purpose. The 
irides of most animals are very beautiful, without 
conducing at all, by their beauty, to the perfection 
of vision; and nature could in no part have em- 
ployed her pencil to so much advantage, because 
no part presents itself so conspicuously to the ob- 
server, or communicates so great an effect to the 
whole aspect. 

In plants, especially in the flowers of plants, the 
principle of beauty holds a still more considerable 
place in their composition ; is still more confessed 
than in animals. Why, for one instance out of a 
f housand, does the corolla of the tulip, when advan- 
wd to its size and maturity, change its colour ? 



REGARDED AS A MASS. 123 

The purposes, so far as we can see, of vegetable 
nutrition, might have been carried on as well by its 
continuing green. Or, if this could not be con- 
sistently with the progress of vegetable life, why 
break into such a variety of colours ? This is no 
proper effect of age, or of declension in the ascent 
of the sap ; for that, like the autumnal teints, would 
have produced one colour on one leaf, with marks 
of fading and withering. It seems a lame account to 
call it, as it has been called, a disease of the plant. 
Is it not more probable, that this property, which 
is independent, as it should seem, of the wants and 
utilities of the plant, was calculated for beauty, in- 
tended for display ? 

A ground, I know, of objection,^ has been taken 
against the whole topic of argument, namely, that 
there is no such thing as beauty at all ; in other 
words, that whatever is useful and familiar, comes 
of course to be thought beautiful ; and that things 
appear to be so, only by their alliance with these 
qualities. Our idea of beauty is capable of being 
in so great a degree modified by habit, by fashion, 
by the experience of advantage or pleasure, and by 
associations arising out of that experience, that a. 
question has been made, wiiether it be not altoge- 
ther generated by these causes, or would have any 
proper existence without them. It seems, however, 
a carrying of the conclusion too far, to deny the 
existence of the principle, viz. a native capacity 
of perceiving beauty, on account of an influence, or 
of varieties proceeding from 'that' influence, to 
which it is subject, seeing that principles the most 
acknowledged are liable to be affected in the same 
manner. I should rather argue thus : The question 
respects objects of sight. Now every other sense 
hath its distinction of agreeable and disagreeable „ 
Some tastes oftend the palate, others gratify it. Ir? 
brutes and insects, this distinction is stronger 
and more regular than in man. Every horse, oX;, 
sheep, swine, when at liberty to choose, and when 
in a natural state, that is, when not vitiated by habits 
forced upon it, eats and rejects the same plants. 
Many insects which feed upon particular plants, 
will rather die than change their appropriate leaf. 
All this looks like a determination in the sense it- 
self to particular tastes. In like manner, smells af- 



124 OF THE AMMAL STRUCTURE 

feet the nose with sensations pleasurable or dis- 
gusting. Some sounds, or compositions of sound, 
deliffht the ear ; others torture it. Habit can do 
much in all these cases, (and it is well for us that it 
can ; for it is this power which reconciles us to 
many necessities :) but has the distinction, in the 
mean time, of agreeable and disagreeable, no foun- 
dation in the sense itself ? What is true of the other 
senses, is most probably true of the eye, (the analo- 
gy is irresistible.) viz. that there belongs to it an 
original constitutiou, fitted to receive pleasure from 
some impressions, and pain from others. 

I do not however know, that the argument which 
alleges beauty as a final cause, rests upon this con- 
cession. We possess a sense of beauty, however 
we come by it. It in fact exists. Things are not 
indifferent to this sense ; all objects do not suit it ; 
many which we see, are agreeable to it ; many 
others disagreeable. It is certainly not the effect 
of habit upon the particular object, because the 
most agreeable objects are often the most rare ; 
many, which are very common, continue to be 
offensive. If they be made supportable by habit, 
it is all which habit can do ; they never become 
agreeable. If this sense, therefore, be acquired. 
it is a result ; the produce of numerous and com- 
plicated actions of external objects upon the senses, 
and of the mind upon its sensations. With this 
result, there must be a certain con^ruity to enable 
any particular object to please : ana that congruity, 
%ve contend, is consulted in the aspect which is 
given to animal and vegetable bodies. 

IV. The skin and covering of animals is that 
upon which their appearance chiefly depends ; and 
it is that part which, perhaps, in all animals is 
most decorated, and most free from impurities. 
But were beauty, or agreeableness of aspect, en- 
tirely out of the question, there is another purpose 
answered by this integument, and by the colloca- 
tion of the parts of the body beneath it, which is 
of still greater importance ; and that purpose is 
concealment. Were it posible to view tlirough the 
i^kin the mechanism of our bodies, the sight would 
frighten us out of our wits. '^ Durst we make a 
single movement,'- asks a lively French writer, 



REGARDED AS A MASS. 325 

^* or stir a step from the place we were in, if we 
saw our blood circulating, the tendons pulling, the 
lun^s blowing, the humours filtrating, and all the 
incomprehensible assemblage of fibres, tubes, 
pumps, valves, currents, pivots, which sustain an 
existence at once so frail, and so presumptuous I" 

V. Of animal bodies, considered as masses, 
there is another property, more curious than it is 
generally thought to be ; which is the faculty of 
standing : and it is more remarkable in two-legged 
animals than in quadrupeds, and, most of all, as 
being the tallest, and resting upon the smallest 
base, in man. There is more, I think, in the mat- 
ter than we are aware of. The statue of a man. 
placed loosely upon its pedestal, would not be se- 
cure of standing half an hour. You are obliged to 
fix its feet to the block by bolts and solder ; or the 
first shake, the first gust of wind, is sure to throw 
it down. Yet this statue shall express all the 
mechanical proportions of a living model. It is 
not therefore the mere figure, or merely placing 
the centre of gravity within the base, that is sulH- 
cient. Either the law of gravitation is suspended 
in favour of living substances, or something more 
is done for them, in order to enable them to uphold 
their posture. There is no reason whatever to 
doubt, but that their parts descend by gravitation 
in the same manner as those of dead matter. The 
gift therefore appears to me to consist in a faculty 
of perpetually shifting the centre of gravity, by a 
set of obscure, indeed, but of quick-balancing ac- 
tions, so as to keep the line of direction, which is 
a line drawn from that centre to the ground, with- 
in its prescribed limits. Of these actions it may 
be observed, first, that they in part constitute what 
we call strength. The dead body drops down. 
The mere adjustment therefore of weight and pres- 
sure, which may be the same the moment after 
death as the moment before, does not support the 
column. In cases also of extreme weakness, tlie 
patient cannot stand upright. Secondly, that these 
actions are only in a small decree voluntary. A 
man is seldom conscious of his voluntary powers 
in keeping himself upon his legs. A child learn- 
ing to walk is the greatest posture-master in the 



126 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 

world : but art, if it may be so called, sinks into 
habit , and he is soon able to poise himself in a 
great variety of attitudes, without being sensible 
either of caution or effort. But still there must be 
an aptitude of parts, upon which habit can thus 
attach ; a previous capacity of motions which the 
animal is thus taught to exercise : and the facility 
with which this exercise is acquired, forms one 
object of our admiration. What parts are princi- 
pally employed, or in what manner each contri- 
butes its office, isj as hath already been confessed, 
difficult to explain. Perhaps the obscure motion 
of the bones of the feet may have their share in 
this effect. They are put in action by every slip 
or vacillation of the body, and seem to assist in re- 
storing its balance. Certain it is, that this cir- 
cumstance in the structure of the foot, viz. its 
being composed of many small bones, applied to 
and articulating with one another, by diversely 
shaped surfaces, instead of being made of one 
piece, like the last of a shoe, is very remarkable. 
I suppose, also, that it would be difficult to stand 
firmly upon stilts or wooden legs, though their base 
exactly imitated the figure and dimensions of the 
foot. The alternation of the joints, the knee-joint 
backward, the hip-joint forward ; the flexibility, in 
every direction, of the spine, especially in the loins 
and neck, appear to be of great moment in preserv- 
ing the equilibrium of the body. With respect to 
ihis last circumstance, it is observable, that the 
vertebrae are so confined by ligaments as to allow 
no more slipping upon their bases, than what is 
just sufficient to break the shock which any violent 
'motion may occasion to the body. A certain de- 
gree also of tension of the sinews appears to be es- 
sential to an erect posture ; for it is by the loss of 
this, that the dead or paralytic body drops down. 
The whole is a wonderful re'sult of combined pow- 
ers, and of very complicated operations. Indeed, 
that standing is not so simple a business as we im- 
agine it to be, is evident from the strange gesticu- 
lations of a drunken man, who has lost tne govern- 
ment of the centre of gravity. 

We have said that this property is the most wor- 
thy of observation in the human body : but a birdf 



REGARDED AS A MASS. 127 

resting upon its perch, or hopping upon a spray,, 
affords no mean specimen of the same faculty. A 
chicken runs off as soon as it is hatched from the 
;egg ; yet a chicken, considered geometrically, and 
with relation to its centre of gravity, its line of di- 
rection, and its equilibrium, is a very irregular solid , 
Is this gift, therefore, or instruction ? May it not 
be said to be with great attention, that nature hath 
balanced the body upon its pivots ? 

I observe also in the same bird a piece of useful 
mechanism of this kind. In the trussing of a fowl, 
upon bending the legs and thighs up towards the 
body, tlie cook finds that the claws close of their 
own accord. Now let it be remembered, that this 
is the position of the limbs, in which the bird rests 
upon its perch. And in this position it sleeps in 
safety ; for the claws do their office in keeping hold 
of the support, not by any exertion of voluntary 
power, which sleep might suspend, but by the 
traction of the tendons in consequence of the atti- 
tude which the legs and thighs take by the bird sit- 
ting down, and to which the mere weight of the 
body gives the force that is necessary. 

VI. Regarding the human body as a mass ; re- 
yarding the general conformations which obtain in 
it ; regarding also particular parts in respect to 
those conformations ; we shall be led to observe 
what I call '' interrupted analogies." The follow- 
ing are examples of what I mean by these terms , 
and I do not know how such critical deviations can, 
by any possible hypothesis, be accounted for wifl'- 
mX design. 

I. All the bones of the body are covered with a 
Deriosteum, except the teeth ; where it ceases, and 
in enamel of ivory which saws and files will hard- 
ly touch, comes into its place. No one can doubt 
jf the use and propriety of this difference ; of the 
^ analogy" being thus " interrupted ;" of the rule, 
which belongs to the conformation of the bones, 
stopping where it does stop : for, had so exquisite- 
ly sensible a membrane as the periosteum invested 
the teeth, as it invests every other bone of the body, 
^heir action, necessary exposure, and irritation, 
would have subjected the animal to continual pain. 
Greneral as it i?; it was not the sort of integumenr. 



128 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE^ &c 

which suited the teeth ; what they stood in need of. 
was a strong, hard, insensible, defensive coat : and 
<^xactly such a covering is given to them, in the ivo- 
ry enamel which adheres to their surface. 

2. The scarf-skin, which clothes all the rest of 
the body, gives way, at the extremities of the toes 
and fingers, to nails. A man has only to look at 
his hand, to observe with what nicety and preci- 
sion that covering, which extends over every other 
part, is here superseded by a different substance, 
and a different texture. Now, if either the rule had 
been necessary, or the deviation from it accidental, 
this effect would not be seen. When I speak of 
the rule being necessary, I mean the formation of 
the skin upon the surface being produced by a set 
of causes constituted without design, and acting, as 
all ignorant causes must act, by a general op'era- 
tioa. Were this the case, no account could be 
given of the operation being suspended at the fin- 
gers' ends, orj,on the back part of the fingers, and 
not on the fore part. On the other hand ; if the 
deviation were accidental, an error, an anomalism ; 
were it any thing else than settled by intention ; 
we should meet with nails upon other parts of the 
body. They would be scattered over the surface, 
like warts or pimples. 

3. All the great cavities of the body are enclos- 
ed by membranes, except the skull. Why should 
not the brain be content with the same covering as 
that which serves for the other principal organs of 
the body ? The heart, the lungs, the liver, the sto- 
mach, the bowels, have all soft integuments, and 
nothing else. The muscular coats are all soft and 
membranous. I can see a reason for this distinc- 
tion in the final cause, but in no other. The im- 
portance of the brain to life, (which experience 
proves to be immediate,) and the extreme tender- 
ness of its substance, make a solid case more ne- 
cessary for it, than for any other part : and such a 
case the hai'dness of the skull supplies. When 
the smallest portion of this natural casket is lost, 
how carefully, yet how imperfectly, is it replaced 
by a plate of metal ! If an anatomist should say, 
that this bony protection is not confined to the 
brain, but is extended along the course of the spine, 



COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 129 

I answer that lie adds strength to the argument. 
If he remark, that the chest also is fortified by 
bones ; I reply, that I should have alleged this in- 
stance myself, if the ribs had not appeared subser- 
vient to the purpose of motion, as well as of de- 
fence. What distinguishes the skull from every 
other cavity is, that the bony covering completely 
surrounds its contents, and is calculated, not for 
motion, but solely for defence. Those hollows, 
likewise, and inequalities, which we observe in the 
inside of the skull, and which exactly fit the folds 
of the brain, answer the important design of keep- 
ing the substance of the brain steady, and of guard- 
ing it against concussions. 



CHAP. XII. 

Comparative anatomy » 

Whenever we find a general plan pursued, yet 
with such variations in it as are, in each case, re- 
quired by the particular exigency of the subject to 
which it is applied, we possess, in such plan and 
such adaptation, the strongest evidence that can be 
afforded of intelligence and design ; an evidence 
which most completely excludes every other hy- 
pothesis. If the general plan proceeded from any 
fixed necessity in the nature of things, how could 
it accommodate itself to the various wants and uses 
which it had to serve under different circumstances, 
and on different occasions ? ArkwrigJWs . mill was 
invented for the spinning of cotton. We see it em- 
ployed for the spinning of wool, flax, and hemp, 
with such modifications of the original principle, 
such variety in the same plan, as the texture of 
those different materials rendered necessary. Of 
the machine's being put together with design, if it 
were possible to doubt, whilst we saw it only under 
one mode, and in one form ; when we came to ob- 
serve it in its different applications, with such 
changes of structure, such additions and supple- 
ments, as the special and particular use in each 
case demanded, we could not refuse any longer our 
assent to the proposition, '^ that intelligence, pro- 



130 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY, 

perly and strictly so called, (including under tbat 
name, foresight, consideration, reference to utility,) 
had been employed, as well in the primitive plan, 
as in the several changes and accommodations 
which it is made to undergo." 

Very much of this reasoning is applicable to what 
has been called Comparative Anatomy. In their 
general economy, in the outlines of the plan, in the 
construction as well as offices of their principal 
parts, there exists between all large terrestrial ani- 
mals a close resemblance. In all T life is sustained, 
and the body nourished, by nearly the same appa- 
ratus. The heart, the lungs, the stomach, the 
liver, the kidneys, are much alike in all. The same 
fluid (for no distinction of blood has been observed) 
circulates through their vessels, and nearly in the 
same order. The same cause therefore, whatever 
that cause was, has been concerned in the origin, 
has governed the production, of these different ani- 
mal forms. 

When we pass on to smaller animals, or to the 
inhabitants of a different element, the resemblance 
becomes more distant and more obscure ; but still 
the plan accompanies us. 

And, what we can never enough commend, and 
which it is our business at present to exemplify, 
the plan is attended, through all its varieties and 
deflections, by subserviences to special occasions 
and utilities. 

I. The covering of different animals (though , 
whether I am correct in classing this under their 
anatomy, I do not kno^v) is the first thing which 
presents itself to our observation ; and is, in truth, 
both for its variety and its suitableness to their 
several natures, as much to be admired as any part 
of their structure. We have bristles, hair, wool, 
furs, feathers, quills, prickles, scales ; yet in this 
diversity both of material and form, we cannot 
f'.hange one animal's coat for another, without evi- 
dently changing it for the worse : taking care, how- 
ever, to remart, that these coverings are, in many 
cases, armour as well as clothing ; intended for 
protection as well as warmth. 

The human animal is the only one which is naked, 
and the only one which can clothe Itself. This ig 
one of the properties which renders him an animal 



COMPARATIVE ANATOIifY. 131 

af ail climates, and of all seasons. He can adapt 
the warmth or lightness of his covering to the tern- 
perature of his habitation. Had he been born with 
a fleece upon his back, although he might have 
been comforted by its warmth in high latitudes, it 
would have oppressed him by its weight and heat^ 
as the species spread towards the equator. 

What art, however, does for men, nature has, in 
many instances, done for those animals which are 
incapable of art. Their clothing, of its own ac- 
cord, changes with their necessities. This is par- 
ticularly the case with that large tribe of quadru- 
peds which are covered with furs. Every dealer 
m hare-skins, aud rabbit-skins, knows how much 
the fur is thickened by the approach of winter. It 
seems to be a part of the same constitution and the 
same design, that wool, in hot countries, degene- 
rates, as it is called, but in truth (most happily for 
the animaFs ease) passes into hair ; whilst, on the 
contrary, that hair, in the dogs of the polar regions, 
is turned into wool, or something very like it. To 
which may be referred, what naturalists have re^ 
marked, that bears, wolves, foxes, hares, which do 
not take the water, have the fur much thicker on 
the back than the belly : whereas in the beaver it 
is. the thickest upon the belly ; as are the feathers 
' In water-fowl. We know the final cause of all this ; 
and we know no other. 

The cove?Hng of birds cannot escape the most 
vulgar observation. Its lightness, its smoothness, 
its warmth ; the disposition of the feathers all in- 
clined backward, the down about their stern, the 
overlapping of their tips, their different configura- 
tion in different parts, not to mention the variety 
of their colours, constitute a vestment for the body, 
so beautiful, and so appropriate to the life which 
;the animal is to lead, as that, I think, we should 
have had no conception of any thing equally per- 
fect, if we had never seen it, or can now imagine 
any thin^ more so. Let us suppose (what is possi- 
ble only m supposition) a person who had never 
seen a bird, to be presented with a plucked phea- 
sant, and bid to set his wits to work, how to con- 
'trive for it a covering which shall unite the quali- 
'ties of warmth, levity, and least rcsistarice to th^ 



132 COMPARATIVE ANATO»ri\ 

aiF; and the highest degree of each ; giving it also 
as much of beauty and ornament as he could afford. 
He is the person to behold the work of the Deity. 
in this part of his creation, with the sentiments 
which are due to it. 

The commendation, which the general aspect o f 
the feathered world seldom fails of exciting, will 
be increased by farther examination. It is one of 
those cases in which the philosopher has more to 
admire, than the common observer. 'Every feather 
is a mechanical wonder. If we look at the quill, we 
find properties not easily brought together, strength 
and lightness. I know few things more remarkable 
than tne strength and lightness of the very pen 
with which I am writing. If we cast our eye to 
the upper part of the stem, we see a material made 
for the purpose, used in no other class of animals, 
and in no other part of birds ; tough, light, pliant, 
elastic. The pith, also, which feeds the feathers, 
is, amongst animal substances, sui generis ; neither 
bone, flesh, membrane, nor tendon.* 

But the artificial part of the feather is the beard, 
or, as it is sometimes, I believe, called, the vane. 
By the beards are meant, what are fastened on each 
side of the stem, and what constitute the breadth 
of the feather ; what we usually strip off from on^ 
side or both, when we make a pen. The separate 
pieces or laminae, of which the beard is composed, 
are called threads, sometimes filaments, or rays. 
Now the first thing which an attentive observer 
will remark is, how much stronger the beard of the 
feather shows itself to be, when pressed in a direc- 
tion perpendicular to its plane, than when rubbed, 
either up or down, in the line of the stem ; and he 
will soon discover the structure which occasions 
this difference, viz. that the laminae whereof these 
beards are composed, are flat, and placed with their 
flat sides towards each other ; by which means, 
whilst they easily bend for the approaching of each 
other, as any onemay perceive by drawing his fin- 



* The quill part of a feather is composed of circular and longi- 
tudinal fibres. In making a pen jou must scrape off the coat of cir- 
cular fibres, or the quill will split io a rag^f ed, jagged njanner» 
isakiDg what bo^e call cat's teeth. 



COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 133 

ger ever so lightly upwards, they are much harder 
to bend out of their plane, which is the direction in 
which they have to encounter the impulse and pres- 
sure of the air, and in which their strength is want- 
ed, and put to the trial. 

This is one particularity in the structure of a 
feather ; a second is still more extraordinary. 
Whoever examines a feather, cannot help taking 
notice, that the threads or laminae of which we have 
been speaking, in their natural state, unite ; that 
their union is something more than the mere appo- 
sition of loose surfaces ; that they are not parted 
asunder without some degree of force ; that never- 
theless there is no glutinous cohesion between 
them ; that therefore, by some mechanical means 
or other, they catch or clasp among themselves, 
thereby giving to the beard or vane its closeness and 
compactness of texture. Nor is this all : when 
two laminae, which have been separated by acci- 
dent, or force, are brought together again, they 
immediately reclasp : the connexion, whatever it 
was, is perfectly recovered, and the beard of the 
feather becomes as smooth and firm as if nothing 
had happened to it. Draw your fir^ger down the 
feather, which is against the grain, and you break, 
probably, the junction of some of the contiguous 
threads ; draw your finger up the feather, and you 
restore all things to their former state. This is no 
common contrivance : and now for the mechanism 
by which it is effected. The threads or laminae 
above mentioned are interlaced with one another : 
and the interlacing is performed by means of a vast 
number of fibres, or teeth, which the laminte shoot 
forth on each side, and which hook and grapple to- 
gether. A friend of mine counted fifty of these 
fibres in one twentieth of an inch. These fibres 
are crooked ; "but curved after a different manner : 
for those which proceed from the thread on the side 
towards the extremity of the feather, are longer, 
more flexible, and bent downward ; whereas those 
whiv.h proceed from the side towards the beginning. 
or quill-end of the feather, are shorter, firmer, and 
turn upwards. The process then which takes 
place, is as follows : when two laminae are pressed 
together, so that these long fibres arc forced far 



134 C0MPARAT1\TE ANATOIVIY. 

enough over the short ones, their crooked parts Ml 
into tne cavity made by the crooked parts of the 
others ; just as the latch that is fastened to a door, 
enters into the cavity of the catch fixed to the door- 
post, and there iiooking itself, fastens the door ; 
for it is properly in this manner, that one thread 
of a feather is fastened to the other. 

This admirable structure of the feather, w^hich it 
is easy to see with a microscope, succeeds per- 
fectly for the use to which nature has designed it ; 
which use was, not only that the laminae might be 
united, but that when one thread or laming has 
been separated from another by some external vio- 
lence, it mi^ht be reclasped with sufficient facility 
and expedition.* 

In the ostrich, this apparatus of crotchets and 
fibres, of hooks and teeth, is w^anting : and we see 
the consequence of the want. The filaments hang 
loose and separate from one another, forming only 
a kind of down ; which constitution of the feathers, 
however it may fit them for the flowing honours of 
a lady's head-dress, may be reckoned an imperfec- 
tion in the bird, inasmuch as wingS; composed of 
these feather% although they may greatly assist it 
in running, do not serve for flight. 

But under the present division of our subject, our 
business with feathers is, as they are the covering 
of the bird. And herein a singular circumstance 
occurs. In the small order of birds which winter 
with us, from a snipe downwards, let the external 
colour of the feathers be what it will, their Creator 
has universally given them a bed of black down 
next their bodies. Black, we know, is the warm- 
est colour : and the purpose here is, to keep in the 
heat, arising from the heart and circulation of the 
blood. It is farther likewise remarkable, that this 
is not found in larger birds ; for whic\i there is also 
a reason : — small birds are much more exposed to 
the cold than large ones ; forasmuch as tney pre- 
sent, in proportion to their bulk, a much larger 
surface to the air. If a turkey were divided into a 

* The abore account is taken from Memoirs for a Natural 
History of Animals, bj- the Rojal Academy of Pari?, r^Hisbefl 

in 1701, p. 219. 



COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 135 

,aniber of wrens, (supposing the shape of the tur- 
jvcy and the wren to be similar,) the surface of all 
*he wrens would exceed the surface of the turkey, 

n the proportion of the length, breadth (or, of any 
Homologous line,) of a turkey to that of a wren , 

". hich would be, perhaps, a proportion of ten to one. 
jt was necessary therefore that small birds should 
be more warmly clad than large ones ; and this 
seems to be the expedient by which that exigency 
is provided for. 

II. In comparing different animals, I know no 
part of their structure which exhibits greater Va- 
riety, or in that variety, a nicer accommodation to 
their respective conveniency, than that which is 
seen in the different formations of their mouths. 
Whether the purpose be the reception of aliment 
merely, or the catching of prey, the picking up of 
seeds, the cropping of herbage, the extraction of 
juices, the suction of liquids, the breaking and 
grinding of food, the taste of that food, together 
with the respiration of air, and, in conjunction with 
it, the utterance of sound : these various offices are 
assigned to this one part, and in different species, 
provided for, as they are wanted, by its different 
constitution. In the human species, forasmuch as 
there are hands to convey the food to the mouth, 
the mouth is flat, and by reason of its flatness, fit- 
ted only for receptiGn ; whereas the projecting jaws, 
the wide rietus, the pointed teeth of the dog and 
his affinities, enable them to apply their mouths to 
snatch and seize the objects of their pursuit. The 
full lips, the rough tongue, the corrugated cartilagi 
nous palate, the broad cutting teeth of the ox, the 
deer, the horse, and the sheep, qualify this tribe 
for browsing upon their pasture ; either gathering 
large mouthfuls at once, where the grass is long, 
which is the case with the ox in particular ; or 
biting close, where it is short, which the horse and 
the sheep arc able to do, in a degree that one could 
hardly expect. The retired under-jaw of a swine 
works in the ground, after the protruding snout, like 
a prong or a plough-share, has made its way to the 
roots upon which it feeds. A conforrnaUon so 
happy, was not the gift of chance. 
In birds y this organ assumes a new character : 



136 CO.niPARATIVE ANATOH'. 

new both in substance and in form : but in both, 
wonderfully adapted to the wants and uses of a 
distinct mode of existence. We have no longer 
the fleshy lips, the teeth of enamelled bone ; but 
we have,, in the place of these two parts, and to per- 
form the office of both, a hard substance (of the 
same nature with that which composes the nails, 
claws, and hoofs, of quadrupeds,) cut out into pro- 
per shapes, and mechanically suited to the actions 
which are wanted. The sharp edge and tempered 
point of the sjMrroic's bill picks almost every kind 
of seed from its concealment in the plant ; and not 
only so, but hulls the grain, breaks and shatters 
the coats of the seed, in order to get at the kernel. 
The hooked beak of the hawk tribe separates the 
flesh from the bones of the animals which it feeds 
upon, almost with the cleanness and precision of a 
dissector's knife. The butcher-bird transfixes its 
prey upon the spike of a thorn, whilst it picks its 
bones. In some birds of this class, we have the 
cros5-bill, i. e. both the upper and lower bill hook- 
ed, and their tips crossing. The 5poo7i-bill enables 
the goose to graze, to collect its food from the bot- 
tom "of pools, or to seek it amidst the soft or liquid 
substances with which it is mixed. The long ta- 
pering bill of the snipe and woodcock, penetrates 
still deeper into moist earth, which is the bed in 
which the food of tliat species is lodged. This is 
exactly the instrument which the animal wanted. 
It did not want strength in its bill, which was in- 
consistent with the slender form of the animal's 
neck, as well as unnecessary for the kind of ali- 
ment upon which it subsists ; but it wanted length 
to reach its object. 

But the species of bill which belongs to the birds 
that live by suction, deserves to be described in its 
relation to that office. They are what naturalists 
call serrated or dentated bills ; the inside of thera 
towards the edge, being thickly set with parallel or 
concentric rows of short, strong, sharp-pointed 
prickles. These, though they should be called 
teeth, are not for the purpose of mastication, like 
the teeth of quadrupeds; nor yet, as in fish, for 
the seizing and retaining of their prey ; but for a 
quite different use. They form a filter. The duck 



COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 137 

by means of them discusses the mud ; examining 
with great accuracy the puddle, the brake, every 
mixture which is hkely to contain her food. The 
operation is thus carried on : — The liquid or semi- 
liquid substances, in which the animal has plunged 
her bill, she draws, by the action of her lungs, 
through the narrow interstices which lie between 
these teeth ; catching, as the stream passes across 
her beak, whatever it may happen to bring along 
with it, that proves agreeable to her choice, and 
easily dismissing all the rest. Now, suppose the 
purpose to have been, out of a mass of confused 
and heterogeneous substances, to separate for the 
use of the animal, or rather to enable the animal 
to separate for its own, those few particles which 
suited its taste and digestion ; what more artificial, 
or more commodious, instrument of selection, could 
have been given to it, than this natural filter ? It 
has been observed also (what must enable the bird 
to choose and distinguish with greater acuteness, 
as well, probably, as what greatly increases its 
luxury,) that the bills of this species are furnished 
with large nerves — that they are covered with a 
skin — and that the nerves run down to the very 
extremity. In the curlew, woodcock, and snipe, 
there are three pairs of nerves, equal almost to 
the optic nerve in thickness, which pass first 
along the roof of the mouth, and then along the 
upper chap down to the point of the bill, long as 
the bill is. 

But to return to the train of our observations. — 
The similitude between the bills of birds and the 
mouths of quadrupeds, is exactly such, as, for the 
sake of the argument, might be wished for. It is 
near enough to show the continuation of the same 
plan ; it is remote enough to exclude the supposi- 
tion of the difference being produced by action or 
use. A more prominent contour, or a wider gap, 
might be resolved into the effect of continued ef- 
forts, on the part of the species, to thrust out the 
mouth, or open it to the stretch. But by what 
course of action, or exercise, or endeavour, shall 
we get rid of the lips, the gums, the teeth ; and ac- 
quire, in the place of them, pincers of horn ? By 
what habit shall we so completely change, not only 



138 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 

the shape of the part, but the substance of which if 
is composed ? The truth is, if we had seen no other 
than the mouths of quadrupeds, we should have 
thought no other could have been formed : little 
could we have supposed, that all the purposes of a 
mouth, furnished with lips, and armed with teeth, 
could be answered by an instrument which had none 
of these ; could be supplied, and that with many ad- 
ditional advantages, by the hardness, and sharp- 
ness, and figure, of the bills of birds. Every thing 
about the animal mouth is mechanical. The teeth 
of fish have their points turned backward, like the 
teeth of a wool or cotton card. The teeth of lob- 
sters work one against another, like the sides of a 
pair of shears. In many insects, the mouth is con- 
verted into a pump or sucker, fitted at the end 
sometimes with a wimble, sometimes with a for- 
ceps ; by which double provision, viz. of the tube 
and the penetrating form of the point, the insect 
first bores through the integuments of its prey, and 
then extracts the juices. And, w^hat is most extra- 
ordinary of all, one sort of mouth, as the occasion 
requires, shall be changed into another sort. The 
caterpillar could not live without teeth ; in several 
species, the butterfly formed from it could not use 
them. The old teeth therefore are cast oft' with 
the exuvise of the grub ; a new and totally difterent 
apparatus assumes their place in the fly. Amid 
these novelties of form, we sometimes forget that 
it is, all the while, the animaFs mouth ; that, whe- 
ther it be lips, or teeth, or bill, or beak, or shears, 
or pump, it is the same part diversified ; and it is 
also remarkable, that, under all the varieties of 
configuration with which we are acquainted, and 
which are very great, the organs of taste and smell- 
ing are situated near each other. 

III. To the mouth adjoins the gullet : in this part 
also, comparative anatomy discovers a difierence of 
structure, adapted to the clifierent necessities of the 
animal. In brutes, because the posture of their 
neck conduces little to the passage of the aliment, 
the fibres of the gullet, which act in this business, 
run in two close spiral lines, crossing each other ; 
in men, these fibres run only a little obliquely from 
t\i& upper end of the oesophagus to the stomach. 



COiMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 139 

mto which, by a gentle contraction, they easily 
transmit the descending morsels ; that is to say, for 
the more laborious deglutition of animals, which 
thrust their food up instead of down, and also 
through a longer passage, a proportionably more 
powerful apparatus of muscles is provided ; more 
powerful; not merely by the strength of the fibres, 
which might be attributed to the greater exercise 
of their force, but in their collocation, which is a 
determinate circumstance, stnd must have been ori- 
ginal. 

IV. The gullet leads to the intestines : here, like- 
wise, as before, comparing quadrupeds with man, 
under a general similitude we meet with appropri* 
ate diiferences. The valvalce conniventes, or, as 
they are by some called, the semilunar valves, 
found in the human intestine, are wanting in that 
of brutes. These are wrinkles or plates of the in- 
nermost coat of the guts, the effect of which is to 
retard the progress of the food through the alimen- 
tary canal. It is easy to understand how much 
more necessary such a provision may be to the 
body of an animal of an erect posture, and in which, 
consequently, the weight of the food is added to the 
action of the intestine, than in that of a quadruped, 
in which the course of the food, from its entrance 
to its exit, is nearly horizontal : but it is impossi- 
ble to assign any cause, except the final cause, for 
this- distinction actually taking place. So far as 
depends upon the action of the part, this structure 
was more to be expected in a quadruped than in a 
man. In truth, it must in both have beeix formed, 
not by action, but in direct opposition to action and 
to pressure ; but the opposition which would arise 
from pressure, is greater in the upright trunk than 
in any other. That theory therefore is pointedly 
contradicted by the example before us. The struc- 
ture is found where its generation, according to 
the method by which the theorist would have it ge- 
nerated, is the most difficult; but (observe) it is 
found where its effect is most useful. 

The different length of the intestines in carnivo- 
rous and herbivorous animals, has been noticed on 
a former occasion. The shortest, I believe, is that 
of some birds of prey, in which the intestinal canal 



140 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY, 

is little more than a straight passage from the mouth 
to the vent. The longest is in the deer kind. The 
intestines of a Canadian stag, four feet high, mea- ' 
sured ninety-six feet.^ The intestine of a sheep, 
unravelled, measured thirty times the length of the 
body. The intestine of a wild cat is only three 
times the length of the body. Universally, where 
the substance upon which the animal feeds is of 
slow concoction, or yields its chyle with more dif- 
ficultj^, there the passage is circuitous and dilatory, 
that time and space may be allowed for the change 
and the absorption which are necessary. Where 
the food is soon dissolved, or already half assimi- 
lated, an unnecessary, or, perhaps, hurtful deten- 
tion is avoided, by giving to it a shorter and a rea- 
dier route. 

V. In comparing the bones of different animals, 
we are struck, in the bones of birds, with a pi'opri' 
ety, which could only proceed from the wisdom of 
an intelligent and designing Creator. In the bones 
of an animal which is to fly, the two qualities re- 
quired are strength and lightness. Wherein, there- 
fore, do the bones of birds (I speak of the cylindri- 
cal bones) differ, in these respects, from the bones 
of quadrupeds ? In three properties : first, their 
cavities are much larger in proportion to the weight 
of the bone, than in those of quadrupeds ; secondly, 
these cavities are empty ; thirdly, the shell is of a 
firmer texture, than is the substance of other bones. 
It is easy to observe these particulars, even in pick- 
ing the wing or leg of a chicken. Now, the weight 
being the same, the diameter, it is evident, will be 
greater in a hollow bone than in a solid one, and 
with the diameter, as every mathematician can 
prove, is increased, cceteris paribus, the strength of 
the cylinder, or its resistance to breaking. In a 
word, a bone of the same weight would not have 
been so strong in any other form ; and to have made 
it heavier, would have incommoded the animals 
flight. Yet this form could not be acquired by use, 
or, the bone become hollow and tubular by exer- 
cise. What appetency could excavate a bone ? 

VI. The lungs also of birds, as compared with 

^ Mem. Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 107. 



COxMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 141* 

the lungs of quadrupeds; contain in them a provi- 
sioH; distin^uishingly calculated for this same pur« 
pose of levitation ; namely, a communication (not 
found in other kinds of animals) between the air- 
vessels of the lungs and the cavities of the body : 
so that by the intromission of air from one to the 
other; (at the will; as it should seem, of the animal,) 
its body can be occasionally puffed out, and its ten» 
dency to descend in the air, or its specific gravity, 
made less. The bodies of birds are blown up from 
their lungs, (which no other animal bodies are,) 
and thus rendered buoyant. 

VII. All birds are oviparous. This likewise car- 
ries on the work of gestation with as little increase 
as possible of the weight of the body. A gravid 
uterus would have been a troublesome burden to a 
bird in its flight. The advantage, in this respect, 
of an oviparous procreation is, that; whilst the 
whole brood are hatched together, the eggs are ex- 
cluded singly, and at considerable intervals. Ten, 
fifteen, or twenty young birds may be produced in 
one cletch or covey, yet the parent bird have never 
been encumbered by the load of more than one full- 
grown egg at one time. 

VIIL A principal topic of comparison between 
animals, is in their instruments of motion. These 
come before us under three divisions ; feet, wings, 
and fins. I desire any man to say, which of the 
three is best fitted for its use ; or whether the same 
consummate art be not conspicuous in them all. — ■ 
The constitution of the elements, in which the mo- 
tion is to be performed, is very different. The ani~ 
mal action must necessarily follow that constitu- 
tion. The Creator therefore, if we might so speak, 
had to prepare for different situations, for different 
difficulties : yet the purpose is accomplished not 
less successfully in one case than in the other.— 
And, as between i^'z/ig'^ and the corresponding limbs 
of quadrupeds, it is accomplished without desert- 
ing the general idea. The idea is modified, not de- 
serted. Strip a wing of its feathers, and it bears 
no obscure resemblance to the fore-leg of a quad- 
ruped. The articulations at the shoulder and the 
cubitus are much alike ; and; what is a closer cir- 



142 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY, 

cumstance, in both cases the upper part of the limb 
consists of a single bone, the lower part of two. 

But, fitted up with its furniture of feathers and 
quills, it becomes a wonderful instrument, more ar- 
tificial than its first appearance indicates, though 
that be very striking : at least, the use, which the 
bird makes of its wings in flying, is more compli- 
cated, and more curious, than is generally known. 
One thing is certain, that if the flapping of the 
wings in flight were no more than the reciprocal 
motion of the same surface in opposite directions, 
either upwards and downwards, or estimated in 
any oblique line, the bird would lose as much by 
one motion, as she gained by another.. The sky- 
lark could never ascend by such an action as this ; 
for, though the stroke upon the air by the under 
side of her wing would carry her up, the stroke 
from the upperside, when she raised her wing 
again, would bring her down. In order therefore, 
to account for the advantage which the bird derives 
from her wing, it is necessary to suppose, that the 
Surface of the wing, measured upon the same plane, 
is contracted, whilst the wing is drawn up ; and let 
out to its full expansion, when it descends upon the 
air for the purpose of moving the body by the reac- 
tion of that element. Now, the form and structure 
of the wing, its external convexity, the disposition, 
and particularly the overlapping, of its larger fea- 
thers, the action of the muscles, and joints of the 
pinions, are all adapted to this alternate adjustment 
of its shape and dimensions. Such a twist, for in- 
stance, or semirotatory motion, is given to the great 
feathers of the w^in^, that they strike the air with 
their flat side, but rise from the stroke slantwise. 
The turning of the oar in rowing, whilst the rower 
advances his hand for a new stroke, is a similar 
eperation to that of the feather, and takes its name 
from the resemblance. I believe that this faculty 
is not found in the great feathers of the taiL This 
is the place also for observing, that the pinions are 
so set upon the body, as to bring down the wings, 
not vertically, but in a direction obliquely tending 
towards then ail ; which motion, by virtue ol the 
common resolution of forces, does two things at 
the same time ; supports the body in the air, and 



m 



COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 143 

carries it forward. The steerage of a bird in its 
flight is effected partly by the wings, but in a prin- 
cipal degree by the tail. And herein we meet with 
a circumstance not a little remarkable. Birds with 
long leffs have short tails ; and, in their flight, 
place their legs close to their bodies, at the same 
time stretching them out backwards, as far as they 
can. In this position, the legs extend be3^ond the 
rump, and become the rudder ; supplying that 
steerage which the tail could not. 

From the wings of birds, the transition is easy 
to the fins offish. They are both, to their respec- 
tive tribes, the instruments of their motion ; but, in 
the work which they have to do, there is a consider- 
able difference, founded in this circumstance. Fish, 
unlike birds, have very nearly' the same specific 
gravity with the element in which they move. In 
the case of fish, therefore, there is little or no 
weight to bear up ; what is wanted, is only an im- 
pulse sufficient to carry the body through a resist- 
ing medium, or to maintain the posture, or to sup- 
port or restore the balance of the body, which is 
always the most unsteady where there is no weight 
to sink it. For these offices, the fins are as large 
as necessary, though much smaller than wings, 
their action mechanicnl, their position, and the 
muscles by which they are moved, in the highest 
degree convenient. The following short account 
of some experiments upon fish, made for the purpose 
of ascertaining the use of their fins, will be the best 
confirmation of what we assert. In most fish, be- 
side the great fin the tail, we find two pairs of fins 
upon the sides, two single fins upon the back, and 
one upon the belly, or rather between the belly and 
the tail. The balancing use of these organs is 
proved in this manner. Of the large-headed fish, 
if you cut off the pectoral fins, i.e. the pair which 
lies close behind the gills, the head falls prone to 
the bottom : if the right pectoral fin only be cut ofT, 
the fish leans to that side ; if the ventral fin on the 
same side be cut away, then it loses its equilibrium 
entirely ; if the dorsal and ventral fins be cut off*, 
the fish reels to the right and left . When the fish 
dies, that is, when the. fins cease to play, the belly 
turns upwards. The use of the same parts for vw^ 



144 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 

lion is seen in the following observation upon them 
vyhen put in action. The pectoral, and more par- 
ticularly the ventral fins, serve to raise and depress 
the fish : when the fish desires to have a retrogradt 
motion; a stroke forward with the pectoral fin effec- 
tually produces it ; if the fish desire to turn either 
way, a singe blow with the tail the opposite way, 
sends it round at once : if the tail strike both ways, 
the motion produced by the double lash is progres- 
sive, and enables the fish to dart forwards with an 
astonishing velocity.* The result is, not only, in 
some cases, the most rapid, but, in all cases, the 
most gentle, pliant, easy, animal motion, with 
which we are acquainted. However, when the tail 
is cut off, the fish loses all motion, and gives itself 
up to where the water impels it. The rest of the 
fins, therefore, so far as respects motion, seem to 
be merely subsidiary to this. In their mechanical 
use, the anal fin may be reckoned the keel ; the 
ventral fins, out-riggers ; the pectoral muscles, the 
oars : and if there be any similitude between these 
parts of a boat and a fish, observe, that it is not the 
resemblance of imitation, but the likeness which 
arises from applying similar mechanical means to 
the same purpose. 

We have seen that the tail in the fish is the great 
instrument of motion. Now, in cetaceous or warm 
blooded fish, which are obliged to rise every two or 
three minutes to the surface to take breath, the 
tail, unlike what it is in other fish, is horizontal ; 
its stroke, consequently, perpendicular to the hori- 
zon, which is the right direction for sending the 
fish to the top, or carrying it down to the bottom. 

Regarding animals in their instruments of mo- 
tion, we have only followed the comparison through 
the first great division of animals into beasts, birds, 
and fish. If it were our intention to pursue the 
consideration farther, I should take in that generic 
distinction amongst birds, the tceb-foot of water- 
fowl. It is an instance which may be pointed out 
to a child. The utility of the web to water-fowl, 
the inutility to land-fowl, are so^ obvious, that it 
seems impossible to notice the difference without 

* G oldsmith, Hist, of Aq. N*t. rol. vi. p. 154. 



COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 145 

acknowledging the design. I am at a loss to know, 
how those who deny the agency of an intelligent 
Creator, dispose of this example. There is nothing 
in the action of swimmings as carried on by a birS 
upon the surface of the water, that should generate 
a membrane between the toes. As to that membrane; 
it is an exercise of constant resistance. The [only 
supposition I can think of is, that all birds have 
been originally water-fowl, and web-footed ; that 
sparrows, hawks, linnets, &c. which frequent the 
land; have in process of time, and in the course of 
many generations, had this part worn away by 
treading upon hard ground. To such evasive as- 
sumptions must atheism always have recourse i 
and, after all, it confesses that the structure of the 
feet of birds, in their original form, was critically 
adapted to their original destination ! The web feet 
of amphibious quadrupeds, seals, otters, &c. fall 
under the same observation. 

IX. The jive senses are common to most large 
animals : nor have we much difference to remark 
in their constitution ; or much, however, which is 
referable to mechanism. 

The superior sagacity of animals which hunt 
their prey, and which, consequently, depend for 
their livelihood upon their nosey is well known, in 
its use ; but not at all known in the organization 
which produces it. 

The external ears of beasts of prey, of lions, 
tigers, wolves, have their trumpet-part, or concavi- 
ty, standing forwards, to seize the sounds whicix 
are before them, viz. the sounds of the animab 
which they pursue or watch. The ears of animals 
of flight are turned backward, to give notice of the 
approach of their enemy from behind, whence he 
may steal upon them unseen. This is a critical 
distinction ; and is mechanical : but it may be sug- 
gested, and, I think, not without probability, that 
it is the effect of continual habit. 

The eyes of animals which follow their prey by 
night, as cats, owls, &c. possess a faculty not 
given to those of other species, namely, of closing 
the pupil entirely. The final cause of which seems 
to be this :— It was necessary for such animaJs 
12 



146 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 

to be able to descrj^ objects with very small 
degrees of light. This capacity depended upon 
the superior sensibility of the retina ; that is, upon 
its being affected by the most feeble impulses. But 
that tenderness of structure, which rendered the 
membrane thus exquisitely sensible, rendered it 
also liable to be offended by the access of stronger 
degrees of light. The contractile range therefore 
of the pupil is increased in these animals, so as to 
enable them to close the aperture entirely : which 
includes the power of diminishing it in every de- 
gree ; whereby at all times such portions, and only 
such portions, of light are admitted, as^ may be re- 
ceived without injury to the sense. 

There appears to be also in the figure, and in 
some properties of the pupil of the eye, an appro- 
priate relation to the wants of different animals 
In horses, oxen, goats, sheep, the pupil of the eye 
is elliptical ; the transverse axis being horizontal ; 
hy which structure, although the eye be placed on 
the side of the head, the anterior elongation of 
the pupil catches the forward rays, or those which 
come from objects immediately in front of the ani- 
maFs faceo 



CHAP. XIII. 

Peculiar Organizations. 
I BELIEVE that all the instances which I shall 
collect under this title, might, consistently enough 
with technical language, have been placed under 
the head of Comparative Anatomy. But there ap- 
pears to me an impropriety in the use which that 
term hath obtained : it being, in some sort, absurd 
to call that a case of comparative anatomy, in 
which there is nothing to ^^ compare;" in which a 
conformation is found in one animal, which hath 
nothing properly answering to it in another. Of 
this kind are the examples which I have to propose 
iij the present chapter ; and the reader will see 
that, though some of them be the strongest, per- 
haps, he will meet with under any division of out 
subject; they must necessarily be of an unconnect 



PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 147 

ed and miscellaneous nature. To dispose them, 
however, into some sort of order, we will notice, 
first, particularities of structure which belong to 
quadrupeds, birds, and fish, as such, or to many of 
the kinds included in these classes of animals ; and 
then, such particularities as are confined to one or 
two species. 

I. Along each side of the neck of large quadru- 
peds, runs a stiff, robust cartilage, which butchers 
call the pax-wax. No person can carve the upper 
end of a crop of beef without driving his knife 
against it. It is a tough, strong, tendinous sub- 
stance, braced from the head to the middle of the 
back : its office is to assist in supporting the weight 
of the head. It is a mechanical provision, of which 
this is the undisputed use ; and it is sufficient, and 
not more than sufficient for the purpose which it 
has to execute. The head of an ox or a horse is a 
heavy weight, acting at the end of a long lever^ 
(consequently with a great purchase,) and in a di- 
rection nearly perpendicular to the joints of the 
supporting neck. From such a force, so advan- 
tageously applied, the bones of the neck would be 
in constant danger of dislocation, if they were^not 
fortified by this strong tape.. No such organ is 
found in the human subject, because, from the 
erect position of the head, (the pressure of it act- 
ing nearly in the direction of the spine,) the junc- 
tion of the vertebrae appears to be sufficiently se- 
cure without it. This cautionary expedient, there- 
fore, is limited to quadrupeds : the care of the Crea- 
tor is seen where it is wanted. 

II. The oil with which birds prune their feathers, 
and the organ which supplies it, is a specific provi- 
sion for the winged creation. On each side of the 
rump of birds is observed a small nipple, yielding 
upon pressure a butter-like substance, which the 
bird extracts by pinching the pap with its bilL 
With this oil, or ointment, thus procured, the bird 
dresses its coat ; and repeats the action as often as 
its own sensations teach it that it is in any part 
wanted, or as the excretion may be sufficient for 
the expense. The gland, the pap, the nature and 
quality of the excreted substance, the manner of 
obtaining it from its lodgment in the body, the ap- 



i48 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS, 

plication of it when obtained, forni; collectively, 
an evidence of intention which it is not easy to 
withstand. Nothing similar to it is found in *un- 
leathered animals. What blind conatus of nature 
should produce it in birds ; should not produce it 
m beasts ? 

III. The air-bladder also of ajish aftbrds a plain 
and direct instance, not only of contrivance, but 
strictly of that species of contrivance which we de- 
nominate mechanical. It is a philosophical appa- 
ratus in the body of an animal. The principle of 
the contrivance is clear : the application of the 
principle is also clear. The use of the organ to 
;?ustain. and, at will, also to elevate, the body of 
the fish in the water, is proved by observing, what 
has been tried, that, when the bladder is burst, the 
fish grovels at the bottom ; and also, that flounders, 
soles, skates, which are without the air-bladder, 
seldom rise in the water, and that with effort. The 
manner in which the purpose is attained, and the j 
suitableness of the means to the end, are not diffi- 
cult to be apprehended. The rising and sinking 
of a fish in water, so far as it is independent of the 
stroke of the fins and tail, can only be regulated by 
the specific gravity of the body. When the blad- 
der, contained in the body of the fish is contracted, 
which the fish probably possesses a muscular pow- 
er of doing, the bulk of the fish is contracted along 
with it ; whereby, since the absolute weight re- 
mains the same, the specific gravity, which is the 
sinking force, is increased, and the fish descends : 
on the contrary, when, in consequence of the re- 
laxation of the muscles, the elasticity of the enclos- 
ed and now compressed air restores the dimensions 
of the bladder, the tendency downwards becomes 
proportionably less than it was before, or is turned 
into a contrary tendency. These are known pro- 
perties of bodies immersed in a fluid. The enamel- 
ted figures, er little glass bubbles, in a jar of wa- 
ter, are made to rise and fall by the same artifice. 
A diving-machine might be made to ascend and 
descend, upon the like principle ; namely, by in- 
troducing mto the inside of it an air-vessel, which, 
by its contraction, would diminish, and by its dis- 
tension enlarge, the bulk of the machine itself, and 



PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 149 

thus rendering it specifically heavier; or specifically 
lighter, than the water which surrounds it. Sup- 
pose this to be done, and the artist to solicit a pa- 
tent for his invention. The inspectors of the mo- 
del; whatever they might think of the use or value 
of the contrivance, could, by no possibility, enter- 
tain a question in their minds, whether it were a 
contrivance or not. No reason has ever been as- 
signed — no reason can be assigned, why the con- 
clusion is not as certain in the fish, as it is in the 
machine ; why the argument is not as firm in one 
case as the other. 

It would be very w^orthy of inquiry, if it were 
possible to discover, by what method an animal 
which lives constantly in water, is able to supply a 
repository of air. The expedient, whatever it be, 
forms part, and perhaps the most curious part, of 
the provision. Nothing similar to the air-bladder 
is found in land-animals ; and a life in the water 
has no natural tendency to produce a bag of air. 
Nothing can be farther from an acquired organiza- 
tion than this is. 

These examples mark the attention of the Crea- 
tor to the three great kingdoms of his animal crea- 
tion, and to their constitution as such. — The ex- 
ample which stands next in point of generality, be- 
longing to a large tribe of animals, or rather to va- 
rious species of that tribe, is the poisonous tooth 
of serpents. 

1. The fang of a viper is a clear and curious ex- 
ample of mechanical contrivance. It is a perfora- 
ted tooth, loose at the root ; in its quiet state 
lying down flat upon the jaw, but furnished with a 
muscle, which, with a jerk, and by a pluck, as it 
were, of a string, suddenly erects it. Under the 
tooth, close to its root, and communicating with 
the perforation, lies a small bag containing the ve- 
nom. When the fang is raised, the closing of the 
jaw presses its root against the bag underneath ; 
and the force of this compression sends out the 
fluid with a considerable impetus through the tube 
in the middle of the tooth. What more unequivo- 
cal or effectual apparatus could be devised, for the 
double purpose of at once inflicting the wound and 
injecting the poison ? Yet, though lodged in the 



150 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 

mouth; it is so constituted, as, in its offensive an! 
quiescent state, not to interfere with the animal's 
ordinary office of receiving its food. It has been 
observed also, that none of the harmless serpents, 
the black snake, the blind worm, &c, have these 
fangs, but teeth of an equal size ; not moveable, as 
this is, but fixed into the jaw. 

II. In being the property of several different spe- 
cies, the preceding example is resembled by tnat 
which I shall next mention, which is the bag of the 
opossum. This is a mechanical contrivance, most 
properly so called. The simplicity of the expe- 
dient renders the contrivance more obvious than 
many others, and by no means less certain. A 
false skin under the belly of the animal, forms a 
pouch, into which the young litter are received at 
their birth ; where they, have an easy and constant 
access to the teats ; in which they are transported 
by the dam from place to place ; where they are at 
liberty to run in and out; and where they find a 
refuge from surprise and danger. It is their cra- 
dle, their asylum, and the machine for their con- 
veyance. Can the use of this structure be doubted 
of? Nor is it a mere doubling of the skin; but it is 
a new organ, furnished with bones and muscles of 
its own. Two bones are placed before the os pubis, 
and joined to that bone as iheir base. These sup- 
port, and give a fixture to, the muscles which 
serve to open the bag. To these muscles there are 
antagonists, which serve in the same manner to 
shutit ; and this office they perform so exactly, 
that, in the living animal, the opening can scarce- 
ly be discerned, except when the sides are forci- 
bly drawn asunder.* Is there any action in this 
part of the animal, any process arising from that 
action, by which these members could be formed ? 
any account to be given of the formation, except 
design ? 

111. As a particularity, yet appertaining to more 
species than one ; and also as strictly mechanical ; 
we may notice a circumstance in the structure of 
the claws of certain birds. The middle claw of the 
heron and cormorant is toothed and notched like a 

- Goldsmith'3 Nat, Hist. rol. iv. p. 241. 



PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 151 

saw. These birds are great fishers, and these 
notches assist them in holding their ehppery prey. 
The use is evident ; but the structure such as can- 
not at all be accounted for by the effort of the ani- 
mal, or the exercise of the part. Some other fish* 
ing birds have these notches in their bills ; and for 
the same purpose. The ganet, or soland goose, 
has the side of its bill irregularly jagged, that it 
may hold its prey the faster. Nor can the struc- 
ture in this, more than in the former case, arise 
from the manner of employing the part. The smooth 
surfaces, and soft flesh offish, were less likely to 
notch the bills of birds, than the hard bodies upon 
which many other species feed. 

We now come to particularities strictly so call» 
ed, as being limited to a single species of animal. 
Of these, I shall take one from a quadruped^ and 
one from a bird. 

I. The stomach of the camel is well known to re- 
tain large quantities of water, and to retain it un- 
changed for a considerable length of time. This 
property qualifies it for living in the desert. Let 
us see, therefore, what is the internal organization 
upon which a faculty so rare, and so beneficial, de- 
pends. A number of distinct sacks or bags (in a 
dromedary thirty of these have been counted) are 
observed to lie between the membranes of the 
second stomach, and to open into the stomach near 
the top by small square apertures. Through these 
orifices, after the stomach is full, the annexed bags 
are filled from it : and the water so deposited is, in 
the first place, not liable to pass into the intestines ; 
in the second place, is kept separate from the solid 
aliment ; and, in the third place, is out of the reach 
of the digestive action of the stomach, or of mixture 
with the gastric juice. It appears probable, or 
rather certain, that the animal, by the conforma- 
tion of its muscles, possesses the power of squeezing 
back this water from the adjacent bags into the 
stomach, whenever thirst excites it to put this 
power in action. 

II. The tongue of the woodpecker is one of those 
singularities which nature presents us with, when 
a singular purpose is to be answered. It is a par- 
ticular instrument fgr a particular use.-, and what^ 



152 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 

except design, ever produces such ? The wood» 
pecker lives chiefly upon insects, lodged in the 
bodies of decayed or decaying trees. For the pur- 
pose of boring into the wood, it is furnished with a 
bill, straight, hard, angular, and sharp. When, by 
means of this piercer, it has reached the cells of 
the insects, then comes the office of its tongue : 
which tongue is, first, of such a length that the 
bird can dart it out three or four inches from the 
bill, — in this respect differing greatly from every 
other species of bird ; in the second place, it is tip* 
ped with a stiff, sharp, bony thorn ; and, in the 
third place (which appears to me the most remark- 
able property of all,) this tip is dentated on both 
sides, like the beard of an arrow or the barb of a 
hook. The description of the part declares its 
uses. The bird, having exposed the retreats of the 
insects by the assistance of its bill, with a motion 
inconceivably quick, launches out at them this long 
tongue ; transfixes them upon the barbed needle at 
the end of it ; and thus draws its prey within its 
mouth. If this be not mechanism, what is? Should 
it be said, that, by continual endeavours to shoot 
out the tongue to the stretch, the woodpecker spe- 
cies may by degrees have lengthened the organ it- 
self, beyond that of other birds, what account can 
be given of its form, or its tip ? how, in particular, 
did it get its barb, its dentation ? These barbs, in 
my opinion, wherever they occur, are decisive 
proofs of mechanical contrivance. 

III. I shall add one more example, for the sake 
of its novelty. It is always an agreeable discovery, 
when, having remarked in an animal an extraordi- 
nary structure, we come at length to find out an 
unexpected use for it. The following narrative 
furnishes an instance of this kind. The babyroues- 
sa, or Indian ho^, a species of wild boar, found in 
the East Indies, nas two bent teeth, more than half 
a yard long, growing upwards, and (which is the 
singularity) from the upper jaw. These instru- 
ments are not wanted for offence : that service being 
provided for by two tusks issuing from the upper 
yaw, and resembling those of the common boar : 
nor does the animal use them for defence. They 
might seem therefore to be both a superfluity and an 



1 



PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 15S 

eumbrance. But observe the event : — the animal 
sleeps standing ; and, in order to support its head- 
hooks its upper tusks upon the branches of trees. 



CHAP. XIV. 

Prospective contrivances. 

1 CAN hardly imagine to myself a more distin 
guishing mark, and, consequently, a more certain 
proof of design, than prepardtion, i. e. the providing 
of things beforehand, which are not to be used untS 
a considerable time afterward : for this implies a 
contemplation of the future, which belongs only to 
intelligence. 

Of these prospective contrivances, the bodies of 
animals furnish various examples, 

I. The human teeth afford an instance, not only 
of prospective contrivance, but of the completion 
of the contrivance being designedly suspended. 
They are formed within the gums, and there they 
stop : the fact being, that their farther advance to 
maturity would not onl]^ be useless to the new-born 
animal, but extremely in its way ; as it is evident 
that the act of sucking, by which it is for some time 
to be nourished, will be performed with more ease 
both to the nurse and to the infant, whilst the in 
side of the mouth, and edges of the gums, are 
smooth and soft, than if set with hard pointed bones 
By the time they are wanted, the teeth are ready. 
They have been lodged within the gums for some 
months past, but detained, as it were, in their 
sockets, so long as their farther protrusion would 
interfere with the office to which the mouth is 
destined. Nature, namely, that intelligence which 
was employed in creation, looked beyond the first 
year of the infant's life; yet, whilst she was pro- 
viding for functions which were after that term to 
become necessary, was careful not to incommode 
those which preceded them. What renders it more 
probable that this is the effect of design, is, that the 
teeth are imperfect, whilst all other parts of the 
mouth are perfect. The lips are perfect, the tongue 
is perfect ; the cheeks, the jaws, the palate, the 



I.;4 PROSPECTIVE CONTKIVANC£b\ 

pharynx, the larynx, are all perfect ; the teefit 
alone are not so. This is the fact with respect to 
the human mouth : the fact also is, that the parts 
above enumerated are called into use from thebegin- 
Tiing ; whereas the teeth would be only so many ob- 
stacles and annoyances, if they were there. When tt 
contrary order is necessary, a contrary order pre- 
vails. In the worm of the beetle, as hatched from 
the egg, the teeth are the first things which arrive 
at perfection. The insect begins to gnaw as soon 
as it escapes from the shell, though its other parts- 
be only gradually advancing to their maturity. 

What has been observed of the teeth, is true of 
the /ior725 of animals ; and for the same reason. The 
horn of a calf or a lamb does not bud, or at least 
does not sprout to any considerable length, until 
the animal be capable of brov/sing upon its pasture ; 
because such a substance upon the forehead of the 
young animal would very much incommode the 
teat of the dam in the office of giving suck. 

But in the case of the teeth, — of the human teeth 
at least^ the prospective contrivance looks still far- 
ther. A succession of crops is provided, and pro- 
vided from the beginning : a second tier being* 
originally formed beneath the first, which do not 
come into use till several years afterward. And 
this double or suppletory provision meets a difficul- 
ty in the mechanism of the mouth, which wouhl 
have appeared almost insurmountable. The ex» 
pansion of the jaw (the consequence of the pro- 
portionable growth of the animal, and of its skull,) 
necessarily separates the teeth of the frstset, how- 
ever compactly disposed, to a distance from one 
another, which would be very inconvenient. In 
due time, therefore, i. e. when \he jaw has attained 
a great part of its dimensions, a new set of teeth 
springs up (loosening and pushing out the old ones? 
before them,) more exactly fitted to the space 
which they are to occupy, and rising also in such 
close ranks, as to allow for any extension of line 
which the subsequent enlargement of the head 
may occasion. 

II. It 13 not very easy to conceive a more evi» 
d^ntly prospective contrivance, than that which, 
in all viviparous animals^ is found in the milk of 



PROSPECTIVE COxNTRIVANCES. 155 

the female parent. At the moment the young ani- 
mal enters the world, there is its maintenance 
ready for it. The particulars to be remarked in 
this economy, are neither few nor slight. We 
have, first, the nutricious quality of the fluid, un- 
like, in this respect, every other excretion of the 
body ; and in which nature hitherto remains unim- 
itated, neither cookery nor chymistry having been 
able to make milk outof grass : we have, secondly, 
the organ for its reception and retention : we have, 
thirdly, the excretory duct, annexed to that organ : 
and we have, lastly, the determination of the milk 
to the breast, at the particular juncture when it is 
about to be wanted. We have all these properties 
in the subject before us : and they are all indica- 
tions of design. The last circumstance is the 
strongest of any. If I had been to guess before- 
hand, I should have conjectured, that at the time 
when there was an extraordinary demand for nour- 
ishment in one part of the system, there would be 
the least likelihood of a redundancy to supply 
another part. The advanced pregnancy of the fe- 
male has no intelligible tendency to fill the breasts 
with milk. The lacteal system is a constant won- 
der : and it adds to other causes of our admiration, 
that the number of the teats or paps in each spe- 
cies is found to bear a proportion to the number of 
the young. In the sow, the bitch, the rabbit, the 
cat, the rat, which have numerous litters, the paps 
are numerous, and are disposed along the whole 
length of the belly ; in the cow and mare, they 
are few. The most simple account of this, is t© 
refer it to a designing Creator. 



But, in the argument before us, we are entitled 
to consider not only animal bodies when framed, 
but the circumstances under which they are fram- 
ed : and in this view of the subject, the constitu- 
tion of many of their parts is most strictly pros- 
pective. 

III. The eye is of no use, at the time when it is 
fbrmed. It is an optical instrument made in a 
dungex)n ; constructed for the refraction of light ta 



15G PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES= 

a focus, and perfect for its purpose, before a ray 
of light has had access to it ; geometrically adapt- J 
ed to the properties and action of an clement, with^ 
which it has no communication. It is about indeed ; 
to enter into that communication ; and this is pre- 
cisely the thing which evidences intention. It ia 
promdin^ for the future in the closest sense which 
can be given to these terms : for it is providing for 
a future change ; not for the then subsisting con- 
dition of the animal ; not for any gradual progress 
or advance in that same condition ; but for a new 
state, the consequence of a great and sudden alte- 
ration, which the animal is to undergo at its birth. 
Js it to be believed that the eye was formed, or, 
which is the same thing, that the series of causes 
was fixed by which the eye is formed, without a 
view to this change ; without a prospect of that 
condition, in which its fabric, of no use at present, 
is about to be of the greatest ; without a consider- 
ation of the qualities of that element, hitherto en- 
tirely excluded, but with which it was hereafter to 
hold so intimate a relation ? A young man maks a 
pair of spectacles for himself against he grows 
old : for which spectacles he has no want or use 
whatever at the time he makes them. Could this 
be done without knowing and considering the de- 
fect of vision to which advanced age is subject ? 
Would not the precise suitableness of the instru- 
ment to its purpose, of the remedv to the defect, 
of the convex lens to the flattened eye, establish 
the certainty of the conclusion, that the case, after- 
ward to arise, had been considered beforehand, 
speculated upon, provided for ? All which are ex- 
clusively the acts of a reasoning mind. The eye 
formed in one state, for use only in another state, 
and in a different state, affords a proof no less clear 
of destination to a future purpose , and a proof 
proportionably stronger, as the machinery is more 
complicated, and the adaptation more exact. 

IV. What has been said of the eye, holds equally 
true of the lungs. Composed of air-vessels, where 
there is no air ; elaborately constructed for the al- 
ternate admission and expulsion of an elastic fluid, 
where no such fluid exists ; this great organ, with 
•the whole apparatus belonging to it, lies collapsed 



PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 157 

in the fcetal thorax ; yet in order, and in readiness 
for action, the first moment that the occasion re- 
quires its service. This is having a machine lock- 
ed up in store for future use ; which incontestably 
proves, that the case was expected to occur, in 
which this use might be experienced : but exoecta- 
tion is the proper act of intelligence. Consiaering 
the state in which an animal exists before its birth, 
I should look for nothing less in its body than a 
system of lungs. It is like finding a pair of bellows 
in the bottom of the sea ; of no sort of use in the 
situation in which they are found ; formed for an 
action which was impossible to be exerted ; hold- 
ing no relation or fitness to the element which sur- 
rounds them, but both to another element in ano- 
ther place. 

As that part and parcel of the same plan ought to 
be mentioned, in speaking of the lungs, the provi- 
sionary contrivances of the foramen ovale and ductus 
arteriosus. In the foetus, pipes are laid for the pas- 
ssLge of the blood through the lungs ; but, until the 
lungs be inflated by the inspiration of air, that pas- 
sage is imperv^ious, or in a great degree obstructed. 
What then is to be done ? V^hat would an art- 
ist, what would a master, do upon the occasion? 
He would endeavour, most probably, to provide a 
temporary passage, which might carry on the com- 
munication required, until the other was open. 
Now this is the thing v/hich is actually done in the 
heart : — Instead of the circuitous route through the 
lungs, which the blood afterward takes, before it 
get from one article of the heart to the other ; a por- 
tion of the blood passes immediately from tlie right 
auricle to the lett, through a hole placed in the par- 
tition, which separates these cavities. Tfus hole, 
anatomists call the foramen ovale. There is 
likewise another cross cut, answering the same 
purpose, b}' what is called the ductus arterio- 
sus, lying between the pulmonary artery and the 
aorta. But both expedients are so strictly tempo- 
rary, that, after birth, the one passage is closed, 
and the tube which forms the other shrivelled pp 
into a ligament. If this be not contrivance, what is ? 

But, forasmuch as the action of the air upon the 
blood in the lungs, appears to be necessary to the 



158 RELATIONS. 

Eerfect concoction of that fluid; i. e. to the life and 
ealth of the animal , (otherwise the shortest route 
might still be the best,) how comes it to pass that 
the foetits lives, and grows, and thrives, without it ? 
The answer is, that the blood of the foetus is the 
mother's : that it has undergone that action in 
her habit ; that one pair of lungs serves for both. 
When the animals are separated, a new necessity 
arises ; and to meet this necessity as soon as it oc- 
curs, an organization is prepared. It is ready for 
its purpose ; it only waits for the atmosphere ; it 
begins to play, the moment the air is admitted to it. 



CHAP. XV. 

Relations. 
When several different parts contribute to one 
effect ; or, which is the same thing, when an ef* 
feet is produced by the joint action of different in- 
struments ; the fitness of such parts or instruments 
to one another, for the purpose of producing, by 
their united action, the eflect, is what I call rela- 
tion : and wherever this is observed in the works of 
nature or of man, it appears to me to carry along 
with it decisive evidence of understanding, inten- 
tion, art. In examining, for instance, the several 
parts of a watch, the spring, the barrel, the chain, 
the fusee, the balance, the wheels of various sizes, 
forms, and positions, what is it which would take 
an observer's attention, as most plainly evincing a 
construction, directed by thought, deliberation, and 
contrivance ? It is the suitableness of these parts to 
one another ; first, in the succession and order in 
which they act ; and secondly, with a view to the 
effect finally produced. Thus referring the spring- 
to the wheels, our observer sees in it, that which 
originates and upholds their motion ; in the chain, 
that which transmits the motion to the fusee ; in 
the fusee, that which communicates it to the 
wheels : in the conical figure of the fusee, if he re- 
fer to the spring, he sees that which corrects the 
inequality of its force. Referring the wheels to 
one another, he notices, first, their teeth, which 



RELATIONS. Yo^ 

M'ouM have been without use or meaning; it' there 
imdheen only one wheel, or if the whee's had had 
no couTicxion between themselveS; or common bear- 
ing upon some ioint effect ; secondly, the corres- 
pondency of their position, so that the teeth of one 
wheel catch into the teeth of another ; thirdly, the 
proportion observed in the number of teeth of each 
•wheel, which determines the rate of going. Refer- 
ring the balance to the rest of the works, he saw^ 
when he came to understand its action, that wliich 
rendered their motions equable. Lastly, in looking 
upon the index and face of the wach, he saw the 
use and conclusion of the mechanism, viz. marking 
the succession of minutes and hours ; but all <!«• 
pending upon the motions within, all upon the sys- 
tem of intermediate actions between the spring and 
the pointer. What tlius struck his attention in the 
iseveral parts of the watch, he might probably de- 
signate by one general name of '' relation ;'*' and 
observing with respect to all cases whatever, in 
which the origin and formation of a thing could be 
ascertained by evidence, that these relations were 
found in things produced by art and design, and in 
no other things^ he would rightly deem of tiiem as 
characteristic of such productions. — to apply the 
reasoning here described to the works of nature. 

The animal economy is full, is made up, of these 
relations :— 

1. There are, first, what, in one form or other, 
belong to all animals, the parts and pov»^ers which 
successively act upon their food. Compare this ac- 
tion with the process of a manufactory. In men 
and quadrupeds, the aliment is, first, broken and 
bruised by mechanical instruments of mastication 
viz. sharp spikes or hard knobs, pressing against 
or rubbing upon one another : thus ground and 
•comminuted, it is carried by a pipe into the sto- 
mach, where it waits to undergo a great chymica) 
action, which we call digestion : when digested, if 
is delivered through an orifice, which opens and 
shuts as^ there is occasion, into the first intestine : 
there, after being mixed with certain proper ingre- 
dients, poured through a hole in the side of the ves- 
6;el, it is farther dissolved : in this state, the milk, 
chyle, or part which is wanted, and which is suitei? 



i<30 RELATIONS. 

for animaj nourishment, is strained off by the 
mouths of very small tubes, opening into the cavity 
of the intestines : thus freed from its grosser parts, 
the percolated fluid is carried by a long, winding, 
but traceable course, into the main stream of the 
old circulation ; which conveys it, in its progress, 
to every part of the body. Now I say again, com- 
pare this with the process of a manufactory ; with 
the making of cider, for example ; with the bruising 
of the apples in the mill, the squeezing of them when 
so bruised in the press, the fermentation in the vat, 
the bestowing of the liquor thus fermented in the 
hogsheads, the drawing off into bottles, the pouring 
out for use into the glass. Let any one snow me 
any difference between these two cases, as to the 
point of contrivance. That which is at present un- 
der our consideration, the ^' relation^' of the parts 
successively employed, is not more clear in the 
last case than in the first. The aptness of the iaws 
and teeth to prepare the food for the stomach, is, at 
least, as manifest as that of the cider-mill to crush 
the apples for the press. The concoction of the 
food in the stomach' is as necessary for its future 
use, as the fermentation of the stum in the vat is to 
the perfection of the liquor. The disposal of the 
aliment afterward ; the action aad change which it 
undergoes ; ihe route which it is made to take, in 
order that, and until that, it arrive at its destination's 
more complex indeed and intricate, but in the midst 
of complication and intricacy, as evident and cer- 
tain, as is the apparatus of cocks, pipes, tunnels, 
for transferring the cider from one vessel to an- 
other ; of barrels and bottles for preserving it till 
fit for use ; or of cups and glasses for bringing it, 
when wanted, to the lip of the consumer. The 
character of the machinery is in both cases this ; 
that one part answers to another part, and every • 
part to the final result. 

This parallel between the alimentary operation 

and some of the processes of art, might be carried 

'arther into detail. Spallanzani has remarked*^ a 

ircumstantial resemblance between the stomachs 

^f gallinaceous fowls and the structure ofcom'mills 

* Die. I. EGCt. liv. 



RELATIONS. 161 

Whilst the two sides of the gizzard perform the of- 
fice of the mill-EtoneS; the craw or crop supplies 
the place of the hopper. 

When our fowls are abundantly supplied with 
meat, they soon 611 their craw ; but it does not im- 
mediately pass thence into the gizzard : it always 
enters in very small quantities, in proportion to the 
progress of trituration ; in like manner as, in a mill, 
a receiver is fixed above the two large stones which 
serve for grinding the corn : which receiver, al- 
though the corn be put into it by bushels, allows 
the grain to dribble only in pmall quantities, into the 
central hole in the upper millstone. 

But we have not done with the alimentary histo- 
ry. There subsists a general relation between the 
external organs of an animal by which it procures 
its food, and the internal powers by which it digests 
it. Birds of prey, by their talons and beaks, are 
qualified to seize and devour many species, both of 
ot^r birds, and of quadrupeds. The constitution 
of me stomach agrees exactly with the form of the 
members. The gastric juice of a bird of prey, of 
an owl, a falcon, or a kite, acts upon the animal 
fibre alone ; it will not act upon seeds or grasses at 
all. On the other hand, the conformation of the 
mouth of the sheep or the ox is suited for browsing 
upon herbage. Nothin,^ about these animals is fit- 
ted for the pursuit of living prey. Accordingly it 
has been found by experiments, tried not many 
years ago, with perforated balls, that the gastric 
juice of ruminating animals, such as the sheep and 
the ox, speedily dissolves vegetables, but makes no 
impression upon animal bodies. This accordancy 
is still more particular. The gastric juice, even of 
granivorous birds, will not act upon the grain, 
whilst whole and entire. In performing the expe- 
riment of digestion with the gastric juice in ves- 
sels, tlie grain must be crushed and bruised, before 
it be submitted to the menstruum, that is to say, 
must undergo by art without the body, the prepa- 
ratory action which the gizzard exerts upon it 
within the body ; or no digestion will take place. 
So strict, in this case, is the relation between the 
offices assigned to the digestive organ, between the 
mechanical operation and the chymical process. 

II. The relation of the kidneys to the bladder. 



162 RELATIONS. 

and of the ureters to both, i. e. of the secreting or- 
gan to the vessel receiving the secreted liquor, and 
the pipe laid from one to the other for the purpose 
of conveying it from one to the other, is as manifest 
as it is amongst the different vessels employed in a 
distillery, or in the communications between them. 
The animal structure, in this case, being simple, 
and the parts easily separated, it forms an instance 
6f correlation which may be presented by dissec- 
tion to every eye, or which, indeed, without dis> 
section, is capable of being apprehended by every 
understanding. This correlation of instruments to 
One another fixes intention somewhere. 

Especially when every other solution is negatived 
by the conformation. If the bladder had been 
merely an expansion of the ureter, produced by re- 
tention of the fluid, there ought to have been a blad- 
der for each ureter. One receptacle, fed by two 
pipes, issuing from different sides of the body, yet 
from both co-iveyingthe same fluid, is not to be ac- 
counted for by any such supposition as this. * 

III. Relation of parts to one another accompa- 
7iies us throughout the whole animal economy. — 
Can any relation be more simple, yet more con- 
^ incing, than this, that the eyes are so placed as 
ro look in the direction in which the legs move and 
the hands work ? It might have happened very 
differently, if it had been left to chance. There 
^vere, at least, three quarters of the compass out of 
four to have erred in. Any considerable alteration 
in the position of the eye, or the figure of the joints, 
would have disturbed the line, and destroyed the 
alliance between the sense and the limbs. 

IV. But relation perhaps is never so striking as 
when it subsists, not between difterent parts of the 
same thing, but'betweon difterent things. The re- 
lation between a lock and a key is more obvious, 
than it is between difterent parts of the • lock. A 
bow was designed for an arrow, and an arrow for 
a bow : and the design is more evident for their be- 
ing separate implements. 

Nor do the works of the Deity want this clearest 
?^p'ecies of relation. The sexes are manifestly made 
for each other. They form the grand relation of 
■ 'iiimatcd nature; universal, organic, mechanical : 



RELATIONS. 16-3 

subsisting like the clearest relations of crt, in dif- 
ferent individuals ; unequivocal, inexplicable with- 
out design. 

So much so, that, were every other proof of con- 
trivance in nature dubious or obscure, this alone 
would be sufficient. The example is complete. — 
Nothing is wanting to the argument. I see no way 
whatever of getting over it. 

V. The teats of animals which give suck, bear a 
relation to the mouth of the suckling progeny ; par- 
ticularly to the lips and tongue. Ht- re also, as be- 
fore, is a correspondency of parts ; which parts 
subsist in different individuals. 

These are general relations, or the relations of 
parts which are found, either in all animals, or in 
large classes and descriptions of animals. Particu- 
lar relations, or the relations which subsist between 
the particular configuration of one or more parts of 
certain species of animals, and the particular con- 
figuration of one or more other parts of the same 
animal, (which is the sort of relation that is, per- 
haps, most striking,) are such as the following : — 

I. In the swan ; the web-foot, the spoon-bill, the 
long neck, the thick down, the graminivorous sto- 
mach, bear all a relation to one another, inasmuch 
as they all concur in one design, that of supplying 
the occasions of an aquatic fowl, floating upon the 
surface of shallow pools of water, and seeking its 
food at the bottom. Begin with any one of these 
particularities of structure, and observe how the 
rest follow it. The web-foot qualifies the bird for 
swimming; the spoon-bill enables it to graze. But 
how is an animal, floating upon the surface of pools 
of water, to graze at the bottom, except by the me- 
diation of a long neck ? A long neck accordingly 
is ^iven to it. Again, a warm-blooded animal, 
which was to pass its life upon water, required a 
defence against the coldness of that element. Such 
a defence is furnished to the swan, in the muff in 
which its body is wrapped. But all this outward 
apparatus would have been in vain, if the intestinal 
system had not been suited to the digestion of ve- 
getable substances. I say, suited to the digestion 
of vegetable substances : for it is well known, thai 
there are two intestinal systems found in birds : ono 



164 RELATIONS. 

with a membranous stomach and a gastric juice, 
capable of dissolving animal substances alone ; the 
other with a crop and gizzard, calculated for the 
moistening, bruising, and afterward digesting, of 
vegetable aliment. 

Or set off with any other distinctive part in the 
body of the swan; for instance, with a long neck. 
The long neck, without the web-foot, would have 
been an incumbrance fo the bird ; yet there is no 
necessary connexion between a long neck and a 
web-foot. In fact, they do not usually go together. 
How happens it, therefore, that they meet, only 
when a particular design demands the aid of both. 

II. This natural relation, arising from a sub- 
serviency to a common purpose, is very observable 
also in the parts of a mole. The strong short legs 
of that animal, the palmated feet armed with sharp 
nails, the pig-like nose, the teeth, the velvet coat, 
the small external ear, the sagacious smell, the 
sunk, protected eye, all conduce to the utilities or 
to the safety of its underground life. It is a spe- 
cial purpose, especially consulted throughout. The 
form of the feet fixes the character of the animal. 
They are so many shovels ; they determine its 
action to that of rooting in the ground ; and every 
thing about its body agrees with this destination. 
The cylindrical figure of the mole, as well as the 
compactricss of its form, arising from the terseness 
of its limbs, proportionably lessens its labour ; be- 
cause, according to its bulk, it thereby requires 
the least possible quantitv of earth to be removed 
for its progress. It has nearly the same structure 
of the face and jaws as a swine, and the same office 
for them. The nose is sharp, slender, tendinous, 
strong ; with a pair of nerves going down to the 
end of it. The plush covering, which, by the 
smoothness, closeness, and polish, of the short 
piles that compose it, rejects the adhesion of almost 
every species of earth, defends the animal from 
cold and wet, and from the impediment which it 
would experience by the mould sticking to its 
budy. From soils of all kinds the little pioneer 
comes forth bright and clean. Inhabiting dirt, it 
is, of all animals, the neatest. 

But what I have always most admired in the mole 



RELATIONS. 165 

is Its eyes. This animal occasionally visiting the 
surface, and wanting, for its safety and direction, 
to be informed when it does so, or when it approach= 
es it, a perception of light was necessary, I do 
not know that the clearness of siffht depends at all 
upon the size of the organ. What is gained by 
tne largeness or prominence of the globe of the eye^ 
is widtn in the field of vision. Such a capacity 
would be of no use to an animal which was to seek 
its food in the dark. The mole did not want to 
look about it ; nor would a large advanced eye have 
been easily defended from the annoyance to which 
the life of the animal must constantly expose it. 
How indeed was the mole, working its way under 
ground, to guard its eyes at all ? In order to meet 
this difficulty, the eyes are made scarcely larger 
than the heaa of a corking pin ; and these minute 
globules are sunk so deeply m the skull, and lie so 
sheltered within the velvet of its covering, as that 
any contraction of what may be called the eye- 
brows, not only closes up the apertures which lead 
to the eyes, but presents a cushion, as it were, to 
any sharp or protruding substance which mightpush 
against them. This aperture, even in its ordinary 
state, is like a pin-hole in a piece of velvet, scarce- 
ly pervious to loose particles of earth. 

Observe then, in this structure, that which we 
call relation. There is no natural connexion be- 
tween a small sunk eye and a shovel palmated foot, 
Palmated feet might have been joined with goggle 
eyes : or small eyes might have been joined 
with feet of any other form. What was it "there- 
fore which brought them together in the mole ? That 
which brought together the barrel, the chain, and 
the fusee, in a watch ; design : and design, in both 
cases, inferred, from the relation which the parts 
bear to one another in the prosecution of a common 
purpose. As hath already been observed, there are 
dilierent ways of stating the relation, according as 
we set out from a different part. In the instance 
before us, we may either consider the shape of the 
feet, as qualifying the animal for that mode of life 
and inhabitation to which the structure of its eyes 
'-onfincs it ; or we may consider the structure of 



1G6 COMPENSATION. 

the eye as the only one which would have suited 
with the action to which the feet are adapted The 
relation is manifest, whichever of the parts related 
we place first in the order of our consideration. In 
a word ; the feet of the mole are made for digging ; 
the neck, nose^ eyes, ears, and skin, are peculiarly 
adapted to an underground life ; and this is what I 
call relation. 



CHAP. XVI. 

Compensation. 

Compensation is a species of relation. Ii i? 
relation when the defects of one part, or of one or- 
gan, are supplied by the structure of another part 
or of another organ. Thus, 

I. The short unbending neck of the elephant, is 
compensated by the length and flexibility of his 
proboscis. He could not have reached the ground 
without it ; or, if it be supposed that he might have 
fed upon the fruit, leaves or branches of trees, how 
was he to drink? Should it be asked. Why is the 
elephant's neck so short ? it may be answered, that 
the weight of a head so heavy could not have been 
supported at the end of a longer lever. To a form, 
therefore, in some respects necessary, but in some 
respects also inadequate to the occasion of the ani- 
mal, a supplement is added, which exactly makes 
up the deficiency under which he laboured. 

If it be suggested that this proboscis may have 
been produced, in a long course of generations, by 
the constant endeavour of the elephant to thrust out 
his nose, (which is the general hypothesis by which 
it has lately been attempted to account for the 
forms of animated nature,) I would ask. How was 
the animal to subsist in the mean time ; during the 
process ; wri^f/ this prolongation of snout were com- 
pleted ? What was to become of the individual, 
whilst the species were perfecting ? 

Our business at present is simply to point out 
the relation which this organ bears to the peculiar 
figure of the animal to which it belongs. And herein 
all things correspond. T^e necessity of the ele- 



COMPENSATION. m 

phant's proboscis arises from the shortness of his 
neck; the shortness of the neck is rendered neces- 
sary by the weight of the head. Were we to enter 
into an examination of the structure and anatomy 
of the proboscis itself, we should sec in it one of 
the most curious of all examples of animal mechan- 
ism. The disposition of the ringlets and fibres, 
for the purpose, first, of forminc^ a long cartilagi- 
nous pipe : secondly, of contracting and lengthen- 
ing that pipe : thirdly, of turning it in every di- 
rection at the will of the animal : with the superad- 
dition at the end, of a fleshy production, of about 
the length and thickness of a finger, and perform- 
ing the office of a finger, so as to pick up a straw 
from the ground : these properties of the same or- 
gan, taken together, exhibit a specimen, not only 
of design (which is attested by the advantage) but 
of consummate art, and, as I may say, of elaborate 
preparation, in accomplishing that design. 

II. The hook in the wing of a bat is strictly a 
mechanical, and also, a compensating contrivance. 
At the angle of its wing there is a bent claw, exact- 
ly in the form of a hook, by which the bat attaches 
itself to th(f sides of rocks, caves, and buildings, 
laying hold of crevices, joinings, chinks, and rough- 
nesses. It hooks itself by this claw ; remains sus- 
pended by this hold ; takes its flight from this po- 
sition : which operations compensate for the de- 
crepitude of its legs and feet. Without her hook, 
the bat would be the most helpless of all animals. 
She can neither run upon her feet, nor raise herself 
from the ground. These inabilities are made up 
to her by the contrivance in her wing : and in 
placing a claw on that part, the Creator has de- 
viated from the analogy observed in winged ani- 
mals. — A singular defect required a singular sub- 
stitute. 

III. The crane >ind afe to live and seek their 
food amongst the waters ; yet, having no web-feet, 
are incapable of swimming. To make up for this 
deficiency, they are furnished with long legs for 
wading, or long bills for groping ; or usually with 
both. This is compensation. But I think the true 
reflection upon the present instance is, how every 
part of nature is tenanted by appropriate iahabit- 



168 COMPENSATION. 

ants. Not only is the surface of deep waters peopled 
by numerous tribes of birds that swim, but marshes 
and shallow pools are furnished with hardly less , 
numerous tribes of birds that wade, 

IV. The common parrot has, in the structure of 
its beak; both an inconvenieney, and a compensation 
for it. When I speak of an inconveniency, I have 
a view to a dilemma which frequently occurs in the 
works of nature, viz. that the peculiarity of struc- 
ture by which an organ is made to answer one 
purpose, necessarily unfits it for some other pur- 
pose. This is the case before us. The upper bill 
of the parrot is so much hooked, and so much over- 
laps the lower, that if, as in other birds, the lower 
chap alone had motion, the bird could scarcely 
gape wide enough to receive its food : yet this hook 
and overlapping of the bill could not be spared, for 
it forms the very instrument by which the bird 
climbs ; to say nothing of the use which it makes 
of it in breaking nuts and the hard substances upon 
which it feeds. How, therefore, has nature pro- 
vided for the opening of this occluded mouth ? by 
making the upper chap moveable, as well as the 
lower. In most birds, the upper chap i? connected 
and makes but one piece, with the skull ; but in the 
parrot, the upper chap is joined to the bone of the 
head by a strong membrane placed on each side of 
it, which lifts and depresses it at pleasure.* 

V. The spider's web is a compensating contriv- 
ance. The spider lives upon flies, without wings 
to pursue them ; a case, one would have thought, 
of great difficulty, yet provided for, and provided 
for by a resource which no stratagem, no effort of 
the animal, could have produced, had not both its 
external and internal structure been specifically 
adapted to the operation. 

VI. In many species of insects, the eye is fixed ; 
and consequently without the power of turning the 
pupil to the object. This great defect is, however, 
perfectly compensated ; and by a mechanism which 
we should not suspect. The eye is a miiltiplying- 
glass, with a lens looking in every direction and 
catching every object. By which means, although 

* GoMsmith'8 Natural Hietory, Fol. r. p. 274, 



COMPENSATION, 169 

the orb of the eye be stationary, the field of vision 
is as ample as that of other animals^ and is com- 
manded on every side. When this lattice-work 
was first observed, the multiplicity and minuteness 
of the surfaces must have added to the surprise of 
the discovery, Adams tells us, that fourteen hun- 
dred of these reticulations have been counted in the 
two eyes of a drone-bee. 

In other cases the compensation is effected hy the 
number and position of the eyes themselves. The 
spider has eight eyes, mounted upon different parts 
of the head ; two in front, two in the top of the 
head ; two on each side. These eyes are without 
motion ; but, by their situation, suited to compre- 
hend every view which the wants or safety of the 
animal rendered it necessary for it to take. 

VII. The Memoirs for the Natural History of 
Animals, published by the French Academy, a. d. 
1687, furnished us with some curious particulars in 
the eye of a chameleon. Instead of two eyelids, it 
is covered by an eyelid with a hole in it. This 
singular structure appears to be comppMsatory , and 
to answer to some other singularities in the shape 
of the animal. The neck of the chameleon is in- 
flexible. To make up for this, the eye is so pro- 
minent, as that more than half of the ball stands 
out of the head ; by means of which extraordinary 
projection, the pupil of the eye can be carried by 
the muscles in every direction, and is capable of 
bemg pomted towards every object. But then, so 
unusual an exposure of the globe of the eye re- 
quires, for its lubricity and defence, a more than 
ordmary protection of eyelid, as well as a more 
than ordinary supply of moisture ; yet the motion 
of an eyelid, formed according to the common con- 
struction, would be impeded, as it should seem, by 
the convexity of the organ. The aperture in the 
lid meets this difficulty. It enables the animal to 
keep the principal part of the surface of the eve 
under cover, and to preserve it in a due state "of 
humidity without shutting out the light : or with- 
out performing every moment a nictitation, which, 
It is probable, would be more laborious to this uni^ 
rnal than to others. 
Vm. In another anhnal, and in another part of 



no coMPENSATIo^^ 

the animal economy, the same Memoirs describe a 
most remarkable substitution. The reader will re- 
member what we have already observed concern- 
ing the intestinal canal ; that its length , so many 
times exceeding that of the body, promotes the ex- 
traction of the chyle from the aliment, by giving 
room for the lacteal vessels to act upon it through 
a greater space. This long intestine, wherever'it 
occurs, is, in other animals, disposed in the abdo- 
men from side to side in returning folds. Eut, in 
the animal now under our notice, the matter is ma- 
naged otherwise. The same intention is mechani- 
cally effectuated ; but by a mechanism of a different 
kind. The animal of which I speak, is an amphi- 
bious quadruped, which our authors call the alo- 
pecias, or sea-fox. The intestine is straight from 
one end to the other : but in this straight, and con- 
sequently short intestine, is a winding, corkscrew, 
spiral passage, through which the f9oS,not without 
• several circumvolutions, and in fact hy a long route, 
is conducted to its exit. Here the shortness of the 
s:ut is compensated by the obliquity of the perfo- 
ration. 

IX. But the works of the Deity are known by 
expedients. Where we should look for absolute 
destitution ; where we can reckon but wants ; 
some contrivance always comes in, to supply the 
privation. A sniil, without wings, feet, or thread, 
climbs up the stalks of plants, by the sole aid of a 
viscid humour d'scharged from her skin. She ad- 
heres to the stems, leaves, and fruits, of plants, by 
means of a sticking plaster. Amuscle, which might 
seem, by its helplessness, to lie at the mercy of 
every wave that went over it, has the singular 
power of spinning strong, tendinous threads, by 
which she moors her shell to rocks and timbers. 
A cockle, on the contrary, by means of its stiff 
tongue, works for itself a shelter in the sand. 
The provisions of nature extend to cases the most 
desperate. 

A lobster has in its constitution a difficulty so 
^reat that one could hardly conjecture beforehand 
liow nature would dispose of it. In most animals, 
the skin grows with their growth. If, instead of a 
soft skii); there be a sliell; still it admits of a gra* 



COMPENSATION. 171 

"dual enlargement. If the shell, as in the tortoise, 
consist of several pieceS; the accession of substance 
is made at the sutures. Bivalve shells grow bigger 
by receiving an accretion at their edge ; it is the 
same with spiral shells at their mouth. The sim- 
plicity of their form admits of this. But the lob- 
ster's shell being applied to the limbs of the body, 
as well as to the body itself, allows not of either of 
the modes of growth which are observed to take 
place in other shells. Its hardness resists expan- 
sion : and its complexity renders it incapable of 
increasing its size by addition of substance to its 
edge. How then was the growth of the lobster to 
be provided for ? Was room to be made for it in 
the old shell, or was it to be successively fitted with 
new ones? If a change of shell become necessary, 
how was the lobster to extricate himself from his 
present confinement ? how was ho to uncase his 
buckler, or draw his legs out of his boots ? Th(i 
process which fishermen have observed to take 
place is as tbllows : — At certain seasons, the shell 
of the lobster grows soft ; the animal swells its 
body ; the seams open, and the claws burst at the 
joints. When the shell has thus become loose upon 
the body, the animal makes a second effort, and by 
a tremulous, spasmodic motion, casts it off. In 
this state, the liberated but defenceless fish retires 
into holes in the rock. The relea^^ed body now 
suddenly pushes its growth. In about eight-and- 
forty hours, a fresh concretion of humour upon the 
surface, i. e. a new shell, is formed, adapted in 
every part to the increased dimensions of the ani* 
mal. This wonderful mutation is repeated every 
year. 

^ If there be imputed defects without compensa- 
tion, I should suspect that they were defects only 
in appearance. Thus, the body of the sloth has 
often been reproached for the slowness of its mo- 
tions, which has been attributed to an imperfection 
in the formation of its limbs. But it oui^ht to be 
observed, that it is this slowness which alone sus- 
pends the voracity of the animal He fasts during 
his migration from one tree to another : and this 
fast may be necessary for the relief of his over- 
charged vessels; as well as to allow time for tlip 



172 COMPENSATION. 

concoction of the mass of coarse and hard food 
which he has taken into his stomach. The tardi- 
ness of his pace seems to have reference to the ca* 
pacity of his organs, and to his propensities with 
respect to food ; i. e. is calcalated to counteract 
the effects of repletion. 

Or there may be cases, in which a defect is arti- 
ficial, and compensated by the very cause which 
produces it. Thus the sJieep, in the domesticated 
state in which we see it, is destitute of the ordina- 
ry means of defence or escape ; is incapable either 
of resistance or flight. But this is not so with the 
wild animal. The natural sheep is swift and ac- 
tive ; and, if it lose these qualities when it comes 
under the subjection of man, the loss is compensa- 
ted by his protection. Perhaps there is no species 
of quadruped whatever, which suffers so little as this 
does, from the depredation of anhnals of prey. 

For the sake of making our meaning better un- 
derstood^ we have considered this business of com- 
pensation under certain j^^^f^Hcularities of constitu- 
tion, in which it appears to be most conspicuous. 
This view of the subject necessarily limits the in- 
stances to single species of animals. But there 
are compensations, perhaps not less certain, which 
extend over large classes, and to large portions of 
living nature. 

I. In quadrupeds, the deficiency of teeth is usu- 
ally compensated by the faculty of rumination. The 
sheep, deer, and ox tribe, are without fore-teeth in 
the upper jaw. These ruminate. The horse and 
ass are furnished with teeth in the upper jaw, and 
do not ruminate. In the former class, the grass 
and hay descend into the stomach, nearly in the 
state in which they are cropped from the pasture, 
or gathered from the bundle. In the stomach, they 
are softened by the gastric juice, which in these 
animals is unusually copious. Thus softened and 
rendered tender, they are returned a second time 
fo the action of the mouth, where the grinding 
teeth complete at their leisure the trituration wmch 
is necessary, but which was before left imperfect. 
I say, the trituration which is necessary ; for it 
appears from experiments, that the gastric fluid of 
sheep, for example; has no effect in digestin,^ 



COMPExNSATION. ^ 173 

plants, unless they have been previously masticat- 
ed ; that it only produces a slight maceration, 
nearly as common v^^ater v^-ould do in a like degree 
of heat ; but that when once vegetables are reduc- 
ed to pieces by mastication, the fluid then exerts 
upon them its specific operation. Its first effect is 
to soften them, and to destroy their natural consis- 
tency ; it then goes on to dissolve them ; not spar- 
ing even the toughest parts, such as the nerves of 
the leaves.* * 

I think it very probable, that the gratification 
also of the animal is renewed and prolonged by 
this faculty. Sheep, deer, and oxen, appear to be 
in a state of enjoyment whilst they are chewing 
the cud. It is then, perhaps, that they best relish 
their food. 

11. In birds, the com'pensation is still more strik- 
ing. They have no teeth at all. What have they^ 
then to make up for this severe want ? I speak of 
granivorous and herbivorous birds ; such as com- 
mon fowls, turkeys, ducks, geese, pigeons, &c. ; for 
it is concerning these alone that the question need 
be asked. All these are furnished with a peculiar 
and most powerful muscle, called the gizzard ; the 
inner coat of which is fitted up with rough plaits^ 
which, by a strong friction against one another, 
break and grind the hard aliment as effectually, 
and by the same mechanical action, as a coffee-mill 
would do. It has been proved by the most correct 
experiments, that the gastric juice of these birds 
will not operate upon the entire grain ; not even 
when softened by water or macerated in the crop. 
Therefore without a grinding machine within its 
body, without the trituration of the gizzard, a 
chicken would have starved upon a heap of corn. 
Yet why should a bill and a gizzard go together ? 
Why should a gizzard never be found where there 
are teeth ? 

Nor does the gizzard belong to birds as such, 
A gizzard is not found in birds of prey. Their 
food requires not to be ground down in a mill. The 
compensatory contrivance goes no farther than the 
necessity. In both classes of birds, however, the 

■*" Spall, JDis. iii. sect. ct\. 



174 * COMPENSATION. 

digestive organ within the body bears a strict and 
mechanical relation to the external instruments for 
procuring food. The soft membranous stomach 
accompanies a hooked, notched beak ; short, mus- 
cular legs ; strong, sharp, crooked talons ; the car- 
tilaginous stomach attends that conformation of 
bill and toes, which restrains the bird to the pick- 
ing of seeds, or the cropping of plants. 

III. But to proceed with our compensations. — A 
very numerous and comprehensible tribe of terres- 
trial animals are entirely without feet ; yet loco- 
motive ; and in a very considerable degree swift in 
their motion. How is the ivant of feet compensa- 
ted ? It is done by the disposition of the muscles 
and fibres of the trunk. In consequence of the 
just collocation, and by means of the joint action of 
longitudinal and annular fibres, that is to say, of 
strings and rings, the body and train of reptiles 
are capable of being reciprocally shortened and 
lengthened, drawn up and stretched out. The re- 
sult of this action is a progressive, and, in some 
cases, a rapid movement of the whole body, in 
any direction to which the will of the animal de- 
termines it. The meanest creature is a collection 
of wonders. The play of the rings in an earth- 
u:orm, as it crawls ; the undulatory motion propa- 
gated along the body ; the beards or prickles with 
which the annuli are armed, and which the animal 
can either shut up close to its body, or let out to 
lay hold of the roughness of the surface upon 
which it creeps ; and the power arising from all 
these, of changing its place and position, afford, 
when compared with the provisions for motion in 
other animals, proofs of new and appropriate me- 
chanism. Suppose that we had never seen an an- 
imal move upon the ground without feet, and that 
the problem was ; muscular action, i. e. reciprocal 
contraction and relaxation being given, to describe 
how such an animal might be constructed, capable 
of voluntarily changing place. Something, per- 
haps, like the organization of reptiles might have 
been hit upon by the ingenuity of an artist ; or 
might have been exhibited in an automaton, by the 
combination of springs, spiral wires, and ringlets . 
but to the solution of the problem would not be de- 



RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES. 175 

iiied, surely, the praise of invention and of suc- 
cessful thought : least of all could it ever be ques- 
tioned, whether intelligence* had been employed 
about it; or not. 



CHAP, XVIL 

The relation of animated bodies to inanimaie nature. 

We have already considered relation, and under 
different views ; but it was the relation of parts to 
parts, of the parts of an animal to other parts of the 
same animal; or of another individual of the same 
species. 

But the bodies of animals hold; in their constitu- 
tion and properties; a close and important relation 
to natures altogether external to their own ; to in- 
animate substances; and to the specific qualities of 
these ; e. g. theij hold a strict relation to the ele- 
ments by ichich they are surrounded. 

I. Can it be doubted, whether the wings of birds 
hear a relation to air, and the fns offish to water ? 
They are instruments of motion, severally suited to 
the properties of the medium in vv'hich the motion is 
to be performed : which properties are different. 
Was not this difference contemplated, when the in- 
struments were differently constituted ? 

II. The structure of the animal ear depends for 
its use, not simply upon being surrounded by a 
fluid; but upon the specific nature of that fluid. 
Every fluid would not serve : its particles must re- 
pel one another ; it must form an elastic medium '. 
for it is by the successive pulses of such a medium, 
that the undulations excited by the surrounding 
body are carried to the organ ; that a communica- 
tion is formed between the object and the sense ; 
which must be done, before the internal machinery 
of the ear, subtile as it is, can act at all. 

III. The organs of the voice, and respiration, 
are, no less than the ear, indebted, for the success 
of their operation, to the peculiar Qualities of the 
fluid in which the animal is immersea. They, there- 
fore, as well as the ear, are constituted upon the. 
jawpposition of such a fluid, ?. e. of a fluid with such 



176 RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES. 

particular properties, bein^ always present. Change 
the properties of the fluid, and the organ cannot 
act ; change the organ, and the properties of the 
fluid would be lost. The structure therefore of our 
organs, and the properties of our atmosphere, are 
made for one another. Nor does it alter the relation, 
whether you allege the organ to be made forj. 
the element, (which seems the most natural way ofij 
considering it,) or the element as prepared for the ■ 
organ. 

IV. But there is another fluid with which we 
have to do ; with properties of its own ; witli laws 
of acting, and of being acted upon, totally different 
from those of air and water : and that is lisiht. To 
this new, this singular element ; to qualities per- 
fectly peculiar, perfectly distinct and remote from 
the qualities of any other substance with which we 
are acquainted, an organ is adapted, an instrument 
is correctly adjusted, not less peculiar amongst the 
parts of the body, not less singular in its form, and 
in the substance of which it is composed, not less 
remote from the materials, the model, and the 
analogy, of any other part of the animal frame, 
than the elisment to which it relates, is specific 
amidst the substances with which we converse. If 
this does not prove appropriation, I desire to know 
what would prove it. 

Yet the element of light and the organ of vision, 
however related in their office and use, have no 
connexion whatever in their original. The action 
of rays of light upon the surfaces of animals, has 
no tendency to breed eyes in their heads. The 
sun might shine for ever upon living bodies, with- 
out the smallest approach towards producing the 
sense of sight. On the other hand also, the animal 
eye does riot generate or emit light. 

V. Throughout the universe there is a wonderful 
■proportioning of one thing to another. The size of 
animals, of the human animal especially, when . 
considered with respect to other animals, or to the 
plants which grow around him, is such, as a re- * 
gard to his conveniency would have pointed out. » 
A giant or a pigmy could not have milked goats, 
reaped corn, or mowed grass ; we may add, could • 
iTOt have rode a IrorsS; trjJined a vine, shorn a sheep. ' 

1 



TO ANIMATED NATURE. 177 

with the same bodily ease as we do, if at all. A 
pigmy would have been lost amongst rushes^ or 
carried off by birds of prey. 

It may be mentioned likewise, that the model 
and the materials of the human body being what 
they are, a much greater bulk would have broken 
down by its own weight. The persons of men who 
much exceed the ordinary stature, betray this ten- 
dency. 

\T. Again (and which includes a vast variety of 
particulars, and those of the greatest importance ;) 
how close is the suitableness of the earth and sea to 
their several inhabitants ; and of these inhabitants, 
to the places of their appointed residence ! 

Take the earth as it is ; and consider the corres- 
pondency of the powers of its inhabitants with the 
properties and condition of the soil which they 
tread. Take the inhabitants as they are ; and con« 
sider the substances which the earth yields for 
their use. They can scratch its surface ; and its 
surface supplies all w^hich they want. This is the 
length of their faculties : and such is the constitu- 
tion of the globe, and their own, that this is sufficient 
for all their occasions. 

When we pass from the earth to the sea, from 
land to water, we pass through a great change ; but 
an adequate change accompanies us, of animal 
forms and functions, of animal capacities and wants ; 
so that correspondency remains. The earth in its 
nature is very different from the sea, and the sea 
from the earth : but one accords with its inhabitants^ 
as exactly as the other. 

VII. The last relation of this kind which I shall 
mention, is that oi sleep to night ; and it appears to 
me to be a relation which was expressly intended. 
Two points are manifest : first, that the anima! 
frame requires sleep ; secondly, that night brings 
with it a silence, and a cessation of activity, which 
allows of sleep being taken without interruption, 
and without loss. Animal existence is made up oi 
action and slumber ; nature has provided a season 
for each. An animal which stood not in need of 
rest, would always live in day-light. An animal, 
which, though made for action, and delighting in 
action^ must have its strength repaired by sleep . 



178 RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES, &( 

meets, by its constitution, the returns of day and 
2iight. in the human species, for instance, were 
the bustle, the la])our, the motion of ]ife,uplie]d by 
the constant presence of light, sleep could not be 
enjoyed without beinf^ disturbed by noise, and 
without expense of that time which the eagerness 
of private interest would not contentedly resign. 
It is happy therefore for this part of the creation, I 
mean that it is conformable to the frame and wants 
of their constitution, that nature, by the very dis- 
position of her elements, has commanded, as it 
were, and imposed upon them, at moderate inter- 
vals, a general intermission of their toils, their oc- 
cupations, and pursuits. 

But it is not for man, either solely or princi- 
pally, that night is made. Inferior, but less per- 
verted natures, taste its solace, and expect its re- 
turn, with greater exactness and advantage than he 
does. I have often observed, and never observed 
but to admire, the satisfaction, no less than the re- 
gularity, with which the greatest part of the irra- 
tional world yield to this soft necessity, this grate- 
ful vicissitude ; how comfortably the birds of the , 
air, for example, address themselves to the repose 
of the evening ; with what alertness they resume | 
the activity of the day! 

Nor does it disturb our argument to confess, that 
certain species of animals are in motion during the 
night, and rest in the day. With respect even to 
them, it is still true, that there is a change of con- 
dition in the animal, and an external change cor- 
responding with it. There is still the relation, 
though inverted. The fact is, that the repose of • 
other animals sets these at liberty, and invites them || 
Jo their food or their sport. I 

If the relation of sleep to night, and, in some in- ■' 
stances, its converse, be real, we cannot reflect 
without amazement upon the extent to which it 
marries us. Day and night are things close to us ; 
ihe change applies immediately to our sensations : 
of all the phenomena of nature, it is the most obvi- 
ous and the most familiar to our experience : but. 
in its cause, it belongs to the great motions which 
are passing in the heavens. Whilst the earth 
gUde^i round her axIC; she niiuistejrs tQ tlie alter- 



INSTINCTS. 179 

nate necessities of the animals dwelling upon her 
surface, at the same tune that she obeys ihe influ- 
ence of those attractions which regulate the order 
of many thousand worlds. The relation therefore 
of sleep to night, is the relation of the inhabitants 
of the earth to the rotation of their globe ; probably 
it is more ; it is a relation to the system, of which 
that globe is a part ; and, still farther, to the con- 
gregation of systems, of which theirs is only one. 
If this account be true, it connects the meanest in- 
dividual with the universe itself; a chicken roost- 
ing upon its perch, with the spheres revolving in 
ihe firmament. 

VIII. But if any one object to our representation, 
that the succession of day and night, or the rotation 
of the earth upon which it depends, is not resolv- 
able into central attraction, we will refer him to 
that which certainly is, — to the change of the sea- 
sons. Now the constitution of animals susceptible 
of torpor, bears a relation to winter, similar to that 
which sleep bears to night. Against not only the 
cold, but the want of food, which the approach of 
winter induces, the Preserver of the world has pro- 
vided in many animals by migration, in many 
others by torpor. As one example out of a thou- 
sand ; the bat, if it did not sleep through the win- 
ter, must have starved, as the moths and flying in- 
sects upon which it feeds disappear. But the tran- 
sition from summer to winter carries us into the 
very midst of physical astronomy ; that is to say, 
into the midst of those laws which govern the solar 
system at least, and probably all the heavenly 
bodies. 



CHAP. XVIII. 

Instincts. 
The order may not be very obvious, by wiiich I 
place instincts next to relation. But I considcj 
them as a species of relations. They contribute, 
aloii^ with the animal organization, to a joint eflecl, 
in which view they are related to that organization, 
in many caseS; they refer from one animal to ano - 



180 LNSTINCTS. 

ther animal ; and, wken this is the case, become 
strictly relations in a second point of view. 

An INSTINCT is a propensity prior to experience, 
and independent of instruction. We contend, that 
it is by insthKt that the sexes of animals seek each 
other ; that animals cherish their offspring ; that 
the young quadruped is directed to the teat of its 
dam ; that birds build their nests and brood with 
so much patience upon their eggs ; that insects 
which do not sit upon their eggs, deposit them in 
those particular situations, in which the young, 
when hatched, find their appropriate food ; that it 
is instinct which carries the salmon, and some other 
fish, out of the sea into rivers, for the purpose of 
fhedding their spawn in fresh water. 

We may select out of this catalogue the incuba- 
tion of eggs. I entertain no doubt, but that a couple 
of sparrows hatched in an oven, and kept separate 
from the rest of their species, would proceed as 
other sparrows do, in every office which related to 
the production and preservation of their brood. As- 
suming this' fact, the thing is inexplicable upon any 
other hypothesis than that of an instinct, impress- 
ed upon the constitution of the animal. For, first, 
what should induce the female bird to prepare a 
nest before she lays h»r eggs ? It is in vain to sup- 
pose her to be possessed of the faculty of reason- 
m^ : for, no reasoning will reach the case. The 
fulness or distension which she might feel in a par- 
ticular part of her body, from the growth and so- 
lidity of the egg within her, could not possibly in- 
form her, that she was about to produce something, 
which, when produced, was to be preserved and 
taken care of. Prior to experience, there was 
nothing to lead to this inference, or to this suspi- 
cion. The analosry was all against it : for, in every 
other instance, what issued from the body, was 
cast out and rejected. 

But, secondly, let us suppose the egg to be pro- 
duced into day ; how should birds know that their 
eggs contain their young ? There is nothing, ei- 
tlier in the aspect or in tlie internal composition of 
an e^g, whicn could lead even the most daring 
imagmation to conjecture, that it was hereafter to 
Turn out from under its shell, a living, perfect bird. 



INSTINCTS. 181 

The form of the egg bears not the rudiments of a 
resemblance to that of the bird. Inspecting its 
contents; we find still less reason, if possible^ to 
look for the result which actually takes place. If 
we should go so far, as, from the appearance of or- 
der and distinction in the disposition of the liquid 
substances which we noticed in the egg, to guess 
that it might be designed for the abode and nutri- 
ment of an animal, (which would be a very bold hy- 
pothesis,) we should expect a tadpole dabbling in 
the slime, much rather than a dry, winged, fea* 
thered creature ; a compound of parts and proper- 
ties impossible to be used in a state of confinenient 
in the egg, and bearing no conceivable relation, 
either in quality or material, to any thing observed 
in it. From the white of an egg, would any one 
look for the feather of a goldfinch ? or expect from^ 
a simple uniform mucilage, the most complicated of 
all machines, the most diversified of all collections 
of substances ? Nor would the process of incuba- 
tion, for some time at least, lead us to suspect the 
event. Who that saw red streaks, shooting in the 
fine membrane which divides the white from the 
yolk, would suppose that these were about to be- 
come bones and limbs ? Who, that espied two dis- 
coloured points first making their appearance iu 
the cicatrix, would have had the courage to predict, 
that these points were to grow into the heart and 
head of a bird ? It is difficult to strip the mind of 
its experience. It is difficult to resuscitate surprise 
when familiarity has once laid the sentiment asleep. 
But could we forget all we know, and which our 
sparrows never knew, about oviparous generation ; 
could we divest ourselves of every information, but 
what we derived from reasoning upon the appear- 
ances or quality discovered in the objects presented 
to us ; I am convinced that Harlequin coming out 
of an egg upon the sta^e, is not more astonishing to 
a child, than the hatching of a chicken both would 
be, and ou^ht to be, to a philosopher. 

But admit the sparrow by some means to know, 
that within that egg was concealed the principle 
of a future bird : from what chymist was she to 
learn, that warmth was necessary to bring it to ma- 
turity; or that the degree of warmth^ imparted hy 



1852 INSTINCTS. 

the temperature of her own body, was the degree 
required ? 

To suppose, therefore, that the female bird acts 
in this^ process from a sagacity and reason of her 
own, is to suppose her "to arrive at conclusions 
which there are no premises to justify. If our 
vSparrow, sitting upon ber eggs, expect young spar- 
rows to come out of them, she forms, I will venture 
to say, a wild and extravagant expectation, in op- 
position to present appearances, and to probability. 
iShe must have penetrated into the order of nature, 
f\irther than any faculties of ours will carry us : 
and it hath been well observed, that this deepsaga- 
city, if it be sagacity, subsists in coniunction with 
great stupidity, even in relation to tne same sub- 
lect. ^' A chymical operation,'' says Addison, 
*' could not be followed with greater art or diligence, 
than is seen in hatching a chicken : yet is the pro- 
cess carried on without the least glimmering of 
thought or common sense. The hen will mistake a 
piece of chalk for an egg ; is insensible of the in- 
crease or diminution of their number ; does not 
distinguish between her own and those of another 
species ; is frightened when her suppositious breed 
of ducklings take the water." 

But it will be said, that what reason could not do 
for the bird, observation, or instruction, or tradi- 
tion, might. Now if it be true, that a couple of 
sparrows, brought up from the first in a state of se- 
paration from all other birds, would build their 
nest, and brood upon their eggs, then there is an 
end to this solution. What can be the traditionary 
knowledge of a chicken hatched in an oven ? 

Of young birds taken in their nests, a few species 
breed, when kept in cages ; and they which do so, 
build their nests nearly in the same manner as in 
the wild state, and sit upon their eggs. This is 
sufficient to prove an instinct, without having re- 
course to experiments upon birds hatched by artifi- 
cial heat, and deprived, from their birth, of all com- 
munication with their species : for we can hardly 
bring ourselves to believe, that the parent bird in- 
formed her unfledged pupil of the history of her 
gestation, her timely preparation of a nest, her ex- 
tiusion of the eggs, her long incubation, and of the 



INSTINCTS. m 

joyiul eruption at last of her expected offspring ; 
all vvhich the bird in the cage must have I'^.arnt in 
her infancV) if we resolve her conduct into institu- 
Hon. 

Unless we will rather suppose, that she remem- 
bers her own escape from the egg ; had attentively 
observed the conformation of the nest in which she 
wa? nurtured ; and had treasured up her remarks 
for future imitation ; which is not only extremely 
improbable, (for who, that sees a brood of callow 
birds in their nest, can believe that they are taking' 
a plan of their habitation ?) but leaves unaccounted 
for, one principal part of the difficulty, '' the pre- 
paration of the nest before the laying of the egff.'' 
This she could not gain from observation in hes;- 
infancy. 

It is remarkable also, that the hen sits upon eggs 
which she has laid without an}' communication witb 
the male ; and which are therefore necessarily un- 
fruitful. That secret she is not let into. Yet if in- 
cubation had been a subject of instruction or of tra- 
dition, it should seem that this distinction would 
have formed part of the lesson ; whereas the in- 
stinct of nature is calculated for a state of nature : 
the exception here alluded to, taking place chiefly^ 
if not solely, amongst domesticated fowls, in which 
nature is forced out of her course. 

There is another case of oviparous economy,, 
which is still less likely to be the effect of education 
than it is even in birds, namely, that of moths and 
butterJIieSy which deposit their eggs in the precise 
substance, that of a cabbage for example, from 
which, not the butterfly herself, but the caterpillar 
which is to issue from her egg, draws its appropri- 
ate food. The butterfly cannot taste the cabbage. 
Cabbage is no food tor her : yet in the cabbage, not 
by chance, but studiously and electively, she lays 
her eggs. There are amongst many other kinds, 
the willow-caterpillar and the cabbage caterpillar : 
but we never find upon a willow the caterpillar 
which cats the cabbage ; nor the converse. This 
choice, as appears to me, cannot in the butterfly 
nroceed from instruction. She had no teacher in 
iier caterpillar state. She never knew her parent. 
1 do not SCO; therefore, how knowledge acqui 



184 INSTINCTS. 

red by experience, if it ever were such, could be 
transmitted from one generation to another. There 
is no opportunity either for instruction or imitation. 
The parent race is gone, before the new brood is- 
liatched^_ And if it be original reasoning in the 
butterfly, it is profound reasoning indeed. She 
must remember her caterpillar state, its tastes and 
habits : of which memory she shows no signs 
whatever. She must conclude from analogy (for 
here her recollection cannot serve her,) that the 
little round body which drops from her abdomen, 
will at a future period produce a living creature, not 
like herself, but like the caterpillar which she 
remembers lierself once to have been. Under the 
influence of these reflections, she goes about to 
make provision for an order of things, which she 
concludes will, some time or other, take place. 
And it is to be observed, that not a few out of 
many, but that all butterflies argue thus ; all draw 
this conclusion ; all act upon it. 

But suppose the address, and the selection, and 
the plan, which we perceive in the preparations 
which many irrational animals make for their 
young, to be traced to some probable origin ; still 
there is left to be accounted for, that which sets 
the whole at work, the a-ro^y/], the parental afiec- 
tion, which I contend to be inexplicable upon any 
other hypothesis than that of instinct. 

For we shall hardly, I imagine, in brutes, refer 
their conduct towards their oftspring to a sense of 
duty, or of decency, a care of reputation, a com- 
pliance with public manners, with public laws, or 
with rules of life built upon a long experience of 
their utility. And all attempts to account for the 
parental aftection from associa.tion, I think, fail. 
AVith what is it associated ? Most immediately 
with the throes of parturition, that is, with pain 
and terror and disease. The more remote, but not 
less strong association, that which depends uj>on 
analogy, is all against it. Every thing else which 
proceeds from tlie body, is cast away, and rejected. 
In birds, is it the egg which the hen loves ? or is it 
the expectation which she cherishes of a future 
progeny, that keeps her upon her nest? What 
•;'ause has she to expect delight from her progeny ^. 



INSTINCTS. 185 

Can any rational answer be given to the question^ 
why, prior to experience, the brooding hea should 
look for pleasure from her chickens ? It does not, 
I think, appear, that the cuckoo ever knows her 
young : yet, in her way, she is as careful in making 
provision for them, as any other bird. She dues 
not l-eave her egg in every hole. 

The salmon suffers no surmountable obstacle to 
oppose her progress up the stream of fresh rivers. 
And what does she do there ? She sheds a spawn, 
which she immediately quits, in order to return to 
the sea : and this issue of her body, she never af- 
terward recognises in any shape whatever. Where 
shall we find a motive for her efforts and her per- 
severance ? Shall we seek it in argumentation, or in 
instinct ? The violet crab of Jamaica performs a fa- 
tiguing march of some months' continuance, from 
the mountains to the sea side. When she reaches 
the coast, she casts her spawn into the open sea ; 
and sets out upon her return home. 

Moths and butterflies, as hath already been ob- 
served, seek out for their eggs those precise situa- 
tions and substances in v/hich the offspring cater* 
pillar will find its appropriate food. That dear ca- 
terpillar, the parent butterfly must never see. — 
There are no experiments to prove that she would 
retain any knowledge of it, if she did. How shall 
we account for her conduct ? I do not mean for her 
art and judgment in selecting and securing a main- 
tenance for her young, but for the impulse upon 
which she acts. What should induce her to exert 
any art, or judgment, or choice, about the matter 7 
The undisclosed grub, the animal which she is des- 
tined not to know, can hardly be the object of a 
particular affection, if we deny the influence of in- 
stinct. There is nothing, therefore, left to her, 
but that of which her nature seems incapable, an 
abstract anxiety for the general preservation of 
the species ; a kind of patriotism ; a solicitude 
lest the butterfly race should cease from the crea- 
tion. 

Lastly ; the principle of association will not ex- 
plain the discontinuance of the affection when the 
young animal is grown up. Association, operating 
in its usual way, would rather produce a contrary 



186 INSTINCTS. 

effect. The object would become more necessary, 
by habits of society : whereas birds and beasts, al- 
ter a certain time, banish their offspring : disown 
Iheir acquaintance ; seem to have even no know- 
ledge of the objects which so lately engrossed the 
attention of their minds, and occupied the industry 
and labour of their bodies. This change, in differ- 
ent animals, takes place at different distances of 
time from the birth ; but the time always corres- 
ponds with the ability of the young animal to main- 
tain itself; never anticipates it. In the sparrow 
tribe, when it is perceived that the young brood 
can fly, and shift for themselves, then the parents 
forsake them for ever; and, though they continue 
to live together, pay them no more attention than 
they do to other birds in the same flock.* I be- 
lieve the same thing is true of all gregarious quad- 
rupeds. 

In this part of the case, the variety of resources^ 
expedients, and materials, which animals of the . 
same species are said to have recourse to, under 
diflerent circumstances, and when diflerently sup- 
plied, makes nothing against the doctrine of in- 
stincts. The thing which we want to account for, 
is the propensity. The propensity being there, it 
is probable enough that it may put the animal upon 
different actions, according to different exigencies. 
And this adaptation of resources may look like the 
effect of art and consideration, rather than of in- 
stinct : but still the propensity is instinctive. For 
instance, suppose what is related of the woodpecker, 
to be true, that in Europe she deposits her eggs in 
cavities, which she scoops out in the trunks of 
soft or decayed trees, and in which cavities the 
eggs lie concealed from the eye, and in some sort 
safe from the hand of man ; but that, in the forests of 
Guinea and the Brazils,whicli man seldom frequents, 
The same bird hangs her nest to the twigs of tall 
trees ; thereby placing tliem out of the reach of 
monkeys and snakes ; i. e. that in each situation she 
prepares against the danger which she has most 
occasion to appprehend : suppose, I say, this to be 
True, and to be alleged, on the part of the bird that 
builds these nests, as evidence of a reasoning and 

* GoldsniitU's Natural History, vol. iv. p. "U. 



INSTINCTS. 387 

iistingiiishing precaution; still the question re- 
turns, whence the propensity to build at all ? 

Nor does parental affection accompany genera-^ 
tion by any universal law of animal organization, if 
such a thing were intelligible. Some animals che- 
rish their progeny with the most ardent fondness, 
and the most assiduous attention ; others entirely 
neglect them; and this distinction always meets 
the constitution of the young animal, with respect 
to'its wants and capacities. In many, the parental 
care extends to the young animal ; in others, as in 
all oviparous fish, it is confined to^ the egg, and 
even, as to that, to the disposal of it in its proper 
element. Also, as there is generation without pa- 
rental affection, so is there parental instinct, or 
what exactly resembles it, without generation. In 
the bee tribe, the grub is nurtured neither by the 
father nor the mother, but by the neutral bee. Pro= 
bably the case is the same with ants. 

I am not ignorant of the theory which resolves 
instinct into sensation ; which asserts, that what 
appears to have a view and relation to the future, 
is the result only of the present disposition of the 
animal's body, and of pleasure or pam experienced 
at the time. Thus the incubation of eggs is ac- 
counted for by the pleasure which the bird is sup- 
posed to receive from the pressure of the smooth 
convex surface of the shells against the abdomen, or 
by the relief which the mild temperature of the 
eg^ may afford to the heat of the lower part of the 
body, which is observed at this time to be increas- 
ed beyond its usual state. This present gratifica- 
tion is the only motive with the hen for sitting 
ui)on her nest ; the hatching of the chickens is, 
with respect to her, an accidental consequence. 
The affection of viviparous animals for their young 
is, in like manner, solved by the relief, and per» 
haps the pleasure, which they receive from giving 
suck. The young animal's seeking, in so'many 
instances, the teat of its dam, is explained from its 
sense of smell, which is attracted by the odour of 
milk. The salmon's urging its way up the stream 
of fresh water rivers, is attributed to some grati- 
fication or refreshment, which, in this particular 
state of the fish's body, . she receives from thi' 



188 INSTINCTS. 

change of element. Now of this theory it may 
be said, 

First, that of the cases which require solution, 
there are few to which it can be applied with tole- 
rable probability ; that there are none to which it 
can be applied without strong objections, furnished 
by the circumstances of the case. The attention of 
the cow to its calf, and of the ewe to its lamb, ap- 
pear to be prior to their sucking. The attraction of 
the calf or lamb to the teat of the dam, is not ex- 
plained by simply referring it to the sense of smell. 
What made the scent of milk so agreeable to the 
lamb, that it should follow it up with its nose, or 
seek with its mouth the place from which it pro- 
ceeded ? No observation, no experience, no argu- 
ment, could teach the new dropped animal, that 
the substance from which the scent issued was the 
material of its food. It had never tasted milk be- 
fore its birth. None of the animals which are not 
designed for that nourishment, ever offer to suck, 
or to seek out any such food. What is the conclu- 
sion, but that the sugescent parts of animals are 
fitted for their use, and the knowledge of that use 
put into them ? 

We assert, secondly, that, even as to the cases in 
which the hypothesis has the fairest claim to con- 
sideration, it does not at all lessen the force of the 
argument for intention and design. The doctrine 
of instinct is that of appetencies, superadded to the 
constitution of an animal, for the effectuating of a 
purpose beneficial to the species. The above stated 
solution would derive these appetencies from or- 
ganization : but then this organization is not less 
specifically, not less precisely, and, therefore, not 
less evidently, adapted to the same ends, than the 
appetencies themselves would be upon the old hy- 
pothesis. In this way of considering the subject, 
sensation supplies the place of foresight : but this 
is the effect of contrivance on the part of the Creator. 
Let it be allowed, for example, that the hen is in- 
duced to brood upon her eggs by the enjoyment or 
relief, which, in the heated state of her abdomen, 
she experiences from the pressure of round smooth 
surfaces, or from the application of a temperate 
warmth : How comes this extraordinary heat oi 



INSTINCTS. 189 

itching, or call it what you will, which you suppose 
to be the cause of the bird's inchnation, to be felt, 
just at the time when the inclination itself is want- 
ed ; when it tallies so exactly with the internal 
constitution of the egg, and with the help which that 
constitution requires in order to bring it to maturi- 
ty ? In my opinion, this solution, if it be accepted 
as to the fact, ought to increase, rather than other- 
wise, our admiration of the contrivance. A gar- 
dener lighting up his stoves, just when he wants 
to force his fruit, and when his trees require the 
heat, gives not a more certain evidence of design. 
So again ; when a male and female sparrow c©me 
together, they do not meet to confer upon the expe- 
diency of perpetuating their species. As an abstract 
proposition, they care not the value of a barley- 
corn, whether the species be perpetuated or not ; 
they follow their sensations ; and all those conse- 
quences ensue, which the wisest counsels could 
have dictated, which the most solicitous care of 
futurity, which the most anxious concern for the 
sparrow world, could have produced. But how do 
these consequences ensue ? The sensations, and 
the constitution upon which they depend, are as 
manifestly directed to the purpose which we see 
fulfilled by them; and the train of intermediate ef- 
fects, as manifestly laid and planned with a view 
to that purpose : that is to say, design is as com- 
pletely evinced by the phenomena, as it would be, 
sven if we suppose the operations to begin, or to be 
carried on, from what some will allow to be alone 
properly called instincts, that is, from desires di- 
rected to a future end, and having no accomplish- 
ment or gratification distinct from the attainment 
Df that end. 

In a word ; I should say to the patrons of this 
)pinion, Be it so ; be it, that those actions of ani- 
nals which we refer to instinct, are not gone about 
vith any view to their consequences, but that they 
ire attended in the animal with a present gratifica- 
ion, and are pursued for the sake of that gratifica- 
ion alone ; what does all this prove, but that the 
rrospection, which must be iome where, is not in 
he animal, but in the Creator ? 

In treating of tlie parental affection in brutes, 



100 INSTINCTS, 

our business lies rather with the origin of the prin- 
ciple, than with the effects and expressions of it 
Writers recount these with pleasure and admira- 
tion. The conduct of many kinds of animals to- 
wards their young, has escaped no observer, no 
historian of nature. ^' How will they caress them/' 
says Derham, '^ v, ith their affectionate notes ; lull 
and quiet them with their tender parental voice ; 
put food into their mouths ; cherish and keep thern 
warm ; teach them to pick, and eat, and gather 
food for themselves ; and, in a word, perform the 
part of so many nurses, deputed by the Sovereign 
Lord and Preserver of the world, to help such i 
young and shiftless creatures!'' Neither ought it, 
under this head, to be forgotten, how much tlie in- 
stinct costs the animal which feels it ; how much a 
bird, for example, gives up, by sitting upon her 
nest ; how repugnant it is to her organization, her 
habits, and her pleasures. An animal, formed for 
liberty, submits to confinement, in the very season' 
when every thing invites her abroad : what is more ; 
an animal deligliting in motion, made for motion ^ 
all whose motions are so easy and so free, hardly 
a moment, at other times, at rest, is, for many 
hours or many days together, fixed to her nest, as 
close as if her limbs were tied down by pins and 
wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that 
situation, but I recognize an invisible hand, detain- 
ing the contented prisoner from her fields and 
groves, for the purpose, as the event proves, the 
most worthy of the sacrifice, the most important, 
the most beneficial. 

But the loss of liberty is not the whole of what 
the procreant bird sufiers. Harvey tells us, that 
he has often found the female wasted to skin and 
bone by sitting upon her eggs. 

One observation more, and I will dismiss the 
subject. The pairing of birds, and the non-pairing 
of beasts, forms a distinction between the two 
classes, which shows, that the conjugal instinct is i 
modified with a reference to utility" founded on the ) 
condition of the ofispring. In quadrupeds, thej 
young animal draws its nutriment from the body of 
the dam. The male parent neither does nor car; 
contribute any part to its sustentatiun. In the 



OF INSECTS. 19i 

winged race, the young bird is supplied by an im- 
portation of food, to procure and bring home which 
m a sufficient quantity for the demand of a nume- 
reus brood, requires the industry of both parents-. 
In this difference, we see a reason for the vagrant 
instinct of the quadruped, and for the faithful love 
of the feathered mate. 



CHAP. XIX, 

Of insects. 

We are not writing a system of natural history ; 
therefore we have not attended to the classes, intfj 
which the subjects of that science are distributed. 
What we had to observe concerning different spe- 
cies of animals, fell easily, for the most part, within 
the divisions which the course of our argument led 
us to adopt. There remain, however, some re* 
marks upon the insect tribe, which could not pro- 
perly be introduced under any of those heads ; and 
which therefore we have collected into a chapter 
by themselves. 

The structure, and the use of the parts, of insects, 
iare less understood than that of quadrupeds and 
ibirds, not only by reason of their minuteness, or 
the minuteness of their parts (for that minuteness 
iwe can, in some measure, follow with glasses.) but 
also by reason of the remoteness of their manners 
and modes of life from those of larger animals. For 
instance: Insects, under all their varieties of form, 
lare endowed with antennce, winch is the name given 
Ito those long feelers that rise from each side of the 
'iiead ; ])ut to what common use or want of the 
insect kind, a provision so universal is subservient, 
lias not yet been ascertained : and it has not been 
^ascertained, because it admits not of a clear, or 
very probable, comparison, with any organs which 
we possess ourselves, or with the organs of animals 
which resemble ourselves in their functions and 
3raculties, or with which we are better acquainted, 
than we are with insects. We want a ground of 
lanalogy. This difficulty stands in our way as to 
:ome particulars in the insect constitution, which 



192 OF INSECTS. 

we might wish to be acquainted with. Neverthe- 
less, there are man^^ contrivances in the bodies of 
insects, neither dubious in their use, nor obscure in 
their structure, and most properly mechanical. 
These form parts of our argument. 

I. The elytra, or scaly wings of the genus of sca- 
rabaeus or beetle, furnish an example of this kind. 
The true Wmg of the animal is a light, transparent 
membrane, finer than the finest gauze, and not un- 
like it. It is also, when expanded, in proportion 
to the size of the animal, very large. In order to 
protect this delicate structure, and, perhaps, also 
to preserve it in a due state of suppleness and hu- 
midity, a strong, hard case is given to it, in the 
shape of the horny wing which we call the elytron. 
When the animal is at rest, the gauze wings lie 
folded up under this impenetrable shield. When 
the beetle prepares for flying, he raises the integu- 
ment, and spreads out his thin membrane to the 
air. And it cannot be observed without admiration, 
what a tissue of cordage, i. e. of muscular tendons, 
must run in various and complicated, but deter- 
minate directions, along this fine surface, in order 
to enable the animal, either to gather it up into a 
certain precise form, whenever it desires to place 
its wings under the shelter which nature hath given 
to them ; or to expand again their folds, when 
wanted for action. 

In some insects, the elytra cover the whole body ; 
in others, half ; in others, only a small part of it ; 
but in all, they completely hide and cover the true 
wings. Also, 

Many or most of the beetle species lodge in holes 
in the earth, environed by hard, rough substances, 
and have frequently to squeeze their way through 
narrow passages ; in which situation, wings so 
tender, and so large, could scarcely have escaped 
injury, without both a firm covering to defend them, 
and the capacity of collecting themselves up under 
its protection. 

II. Another contrivance, equally mechanical, and 
equally clear, is the aiol, or borer, fixed at the tails 
of various species of flies ; and with which they 
pierce, in some cases, plants ; in others, wood ; in 
others, the skin and flesh of animals ; in others. 



OF INSECTS, 193 

the coat of the chyrsalis of insects of a different 
species from their own ; and in others, even lime, 
mortar, and stone. I need not add, that having 
pierced the substance, they deposit their eggs in 
the hole. The descriptions which naturalists give 
of this organ, are such as the following : ^ It is a 
sharp-pointed instrument, which, in its inactive- 
state, lies concealed in the extremity of the abdo- 
men, and which the animal draws out at pleasure, 
for the purpose of making a puncture in the leaves, 
stem, or bark, of the particular plant which i» 
suited to the nourishment of its young. In a- 
sheath, vi^hich divides and opens whenever the or- 
gan is used, there is enclosed a compact, solid, 
aendated stem, along which runs ti gutter or groove, 
"uy which groove, after the penetration is effected, 
the egg, assisted, in some cases, by a paristaltic 
motion, passes to its destined lodgement. In the 
cestrum or gad-fly, the wimble draws out like the 
pieces of a spy-glass ; the last piece is armed with 
three hooks, and is able to bore through the hide 
of an ox. Can any thing more be necessary to 
display the mechanism, than to relate the fact ? 

III. The stings of insects, though for a different 
purpose, are, in their structure, not unlike the 
piercer. The sharpness to which the point in alJ 
of them is wrought ; the temper and firmness of 
the substance of which it is composed ; the strength 
of the muscles by which it is darted out, compared 
with the smallness and weakness of the insect, 
and with the soft and friable texture of the rest of 
the body, are properties of the sting to be noticed, 
and not a little to be admired. The sting of a bee. 
will pierce through a goat-skin glove. It pene- 
trates the human flesh more readily than the finest 
point of a needle. The action of the sting affords 
an example of the union of chymistry and mechan- 
ism, such as, if it be not a proof of contrivance, 
nothing is. First, as to the chymistry ; how high- 
ly concentrated must be the venom, which, in so 
small a quantity, can produce such powerful effects f 
And in the bee we may observe, that this venom is 
made from honey, the only food of the insect, but 
the last material from which I should have expect- 
ed that an exalted poison could; by any process or 
It) 



194 OF LNSECTS. 

digestion whatsoever, hare been prepared. In the 
next place, with respect to the mechanism, the 
sting is not a simple, but a compound instrument. 
The visible sting, though drawn to a point ex- 
quisitely sharp, is in strictness only a sheath ; for, 
near to the extremity, may be perceived by the 
microscope two minute orifices, from which orifi- 
ces, in the act of stinging, and, as it should seem, 
after the point of the main sting has buried itself 
in the flesh, are launched out two subtile rays, 
which may be called the true or proper stings, as 
being those through which the poison is infused 
into the puncture already made by the exterior 
sting. I have said, that chymistry and mechan- 
ism are here united : by which observation I meant, 
that all this machinery- would have been useless, 
felum imbelle, if a supply of poison, intense in 
quality, in proportion to the smallness of the drop, 
had not been lurnished to it by the chymical ela- 
boration which was carried on in the insect's body ; 
and that, on the other hand, the poison, the result 
of this process, could not have attained its eflect, 
or reached its enemy, if, when it was collected at 
the extremity of the abdomen, it had not found there 
a machinery, fitted to conduct it to the external 
situations in which it was to operate, viz, an awl 
to bore a hole, and a syringe to inject the fluid. 
Yet these attributes, though combined in their ac- 
tion, are independent in their origin. The venom 
does not breed the sting ; nor does the sting con- 
coct the venom. 

IV. The proboscis, with which many insects are 
endowed, comes next in order to be considered. It 
is a tube attached to the head of the animal. In 
the bee, it is composed of two pieces, connected by 
a joint ; for, if it were constantly extended, it would 
be too much exposed to accidental injuries ; there- 
fore, in its indolent state, it is doubled up by means 
of the joint, and in that position lies secure under 
a scaly penthouse. In many species of the buttcr- 
ilVy the proboscis, when not in use, is coiled up like 
A*watch-spring. In the same bee, thp» proboscis 
serves the office of the mouth, the insect having no 
o'ther : and how much better adapted it is, than a 
^no'uxh would be, for the CTolhcting- of the proper 



OF INSECTS. 19a 

nourishment of the animal^ is sufficiently evident . 
The food of the bee is the nectar of flowers ; a drop 
of syrup, lodged deep in the bottom of the coroUae^ 
in the recesses of the petals, or down the neck of a 
monopetalous glove. Into these cells the bee 
thrusts its long narrow pump, through the cavit}' 
of which it sucks up this precious fluid, inaccessi- 
ble to every other approach. It is observable also, 
that the plant is not the worse for what the bee 
does to It. The harmless plunderer rifles the 
sweets, but leaves the flower uninjured. The ring- 
lets of which the proboscis of the bee is composed, 
the muscles by wnich it is extended and contract- 
ed, form so many microscopical wonders. The 
agility also with which it is moved, can hardly fail 
to excite admiration. But it is enough for our pur- 
pose to observe, in general, the suitableness of the 
structure to the use, of the means to the end, and 
especially the wisdom by which nature has depart- 
ed from its most general analogy (for, animals be- 
ing furnished with mouths are such ) when the pur- 
pose could be better answered by the deviation. 

In some insects, the proboscis, or tongue, or 
trunk, is shut up in a sharp-pointed sheath : which 
sheath, being of a much firmer texture than the pro- 
boscis itself, as well as sharpened at the point, 
pierces the substance which contains the food, and 
then opens ivitliin the wound, to allow the enclosed 
tube, through which the juice is extracted, to per* 
form its ottice. Can any mechanism be plainer 
than this is ; or surpass this ? 

V. The metamorphosis of insects from grubs into 
moths and flies, is an astonishing process. A hairy 
caterpillar is transformed into a butterfly. Ob- 
serve the change. We have four beautiful win^s. 
where there were none before ; a tubular proboscis, 
in the place of a mouth with jaws and teeth ; six 
long legs, instead of fourteen feet. In another case, 
we see awhile, smooth, soft worm, turned into a 
black, hard, crustaceous beetle, with gauze wings 
These, as I said, are astonishing processes, and 
must require, as it should seem, a proportionably 
artificial apparatus. The hypothesis which appears 
to me most probable is, that, in the grub, there 
exist at the same time three animals, one within 



laS OP INSECT &\ 

another, all nourished by the same digestion, and 
hy a communicating circulation ; but in different 
stages of maturity. The latest discoveries made 
by naturalists, seem to favour this supposition. 
The insect already equipped with wings, is de- 
scried under the membranes both of the worm and 
nymph. In some species, the proboscis, the an- 
tennae, the limbs, and win^s, of the fly, have been 
observed to be folded up within the body of the ca- 
terpillar ; and with such nicety as to occupy a 
small space only under the two first wings. This 
being so, the outermost animal, which, besides its 
own proper character, serves as an integument to 
the other two, being the farthest advanced, dies, as 
we suppose, and drops off first. The second, the 
pupa or chrysalis, then offers itself to observation. 
This also, in its turn, dies ; its dead and brittle 
husk falls to pieces, and makes way for the appear- 
ance of the fly or moth. Now, if this be the case, 
or indeed whatever explication be adopted, we have 
a prospective contrivance of the most curious kind : 
we have organizations three deep ; yet a vascular 
system, which supplies nutrition, growth, and life, 
to all of them together. 

VI. Almost all insects are oviparous. Nature 
keeps her butterflies, moths, and caterpillars, lock- 
ed up during the winter in their agg state ; and we 
have to admire the various devices to which, if we 
may so speak, the same nature hath resorted, for 
the securitij of the egg. Many insects enclose their 
eggs in a silken web ; others cover them with a 
coat of hair, torn from their own bodies ; some^ 
glue them together ; and others, like the moth of 
the silkworm, glue them to the leaves upon which 
they are deposited, that they may not be shaken off 
by the wind, or washed away b}' rain : some again 
make incisions into leaves, and hide an egg in each 
incision ; whilst some envelope their eggs with a 
soft substance, which forms the first aliment of the 
young animal : and some again make a hole in the 
i>.arth,and, having stored it with a quantity of pro- 
per food, deposit their eggs in it. In all which we 
are to observe, that the expedient depends, not so 
much upon the address of the animal, as upon the 
physical resources of his constitution. 



or INSECTS. 197 

The art also with which the young insect is coil- 
ed up in the egg, presents, where it can be exam- 
ined, a subject of great curiosity. The insect, fur- 
nished with all the members which it ought to have, 
is rolled up into a form which seems to contract it 
into the least possible space ; by which contrac- 
tion, notwithstanding the smallness of the egg, it 
has room enough in its apartment, and to spare. 
This folding of the limbs appears to me to indicate 
a special direction ; for, if it were merely the effect 
of compression, the collocation of the parts would 
be more various than it is. In the same species, 1 
believe, it is always the same. 

These observations belong to the whole insect 
tribe, or to a great part of them. Other observa- 
tions are limited to fewer species ; but not, perhaps, 
less important or satisfactory. 

I. The organization in the abdomen of the silk- 
worm, or spider, whereby these insects form their 
thread, is as hicontestably mechanical as a wire- 
drawer's mill. In the body of the silkworm are 
two bags, remarkable for their ft)rm, position, and 
use. They wind round the intestine ; when drawn 
out, they are ten inches in length, though the ani- 
mal itself be only two. Within these bags, is col- 
lected a glue : and communicating with the bagj?, 
are two paps or outlets, perforated, like a grater, 
by a number of small holes. The glue or gum, be- 
ing passed through these minute apertures, forms 
hairs of almost miperceptible fineness ; and these 
hairs, when joined, compose the silk which we wind 
off from the cone, in which the silkworm has wrap- 
ped itself up : in the spider, the web is formed from 
this thread. In both cases, the extremity of the 
thread, by means of its adhesive quality, is first at- 
tached by the animal to some external hold ; and 
the end being now fastened to a point, the insect, 
by turning round its body, or by receding from that 
point, draws out the thread through the holes above 
described; by an operation, as hath been observed, 
exactly similar to the drawing of wire. The thread, 
like the wire, is formed by the hole through which 
it passes. In one respect there is a difference. The 
wire is the metal unaltered, except in figure. In 
^ho animal process^ the nature of the substance i^ 



198 OF INSECTS. 

somewhat changed, as well as the form ; for, as it 
exists within the insect, it is a soft, clammy gum. 
or glue. The thread acquires, it is probable, its 
firmness and tenacity from the action of the air 
upon its surface, in the moment of exposure : and 
a thread so fine is almost all surface. This pro- 
perty, however, of the paste, is part of the con- 
trivance. 

The mechanism itself consists of the bags, or re- 
servoirs, into which the glue is collected, and of 
the external holes communicating with these bags : 
and the action of the machine is seen,, in the form- 
ing of a thread, as wire is formed, by forcing the 
material already prepared through holes of proper 
dimensions. The secretion is an act too subtile 
for our discernment, except as we perceive it by 
the produce. But one thing answers to another ; 
the secretory glands to the quality and consistence 
required in the secreted substance ; the bag to its 
reception : the outlets and orifices are constructed, 
not merely for relieving the reservoirs of their bur- 
den, but for manufacturing the contents into a form 
and texture, of great external use, or rather indeed 
of future necessity, to the life and functions of the 
insect. 

II. Bees, under one character or other, have fur- 
nished every naturalist with a set of observations. 
I shall, in this place, confine myself to one ; and 
that is the relation which obtains between the wax 
and the honey. No person, who has inspected a 
bee-hive, can forbear remarking how commodious- 
]y the honey is bestowed in the comb ; and, amongst 
other advantages, how efiectually the fermentation 
of the honey "is prevented by distributing it into 
small cells. The fact is, that when the noney is 
separated from the comb, and put into jars, it runs 
into fermentation, with a much less degree of heat 
than what takes place in a hive. This may be 
reckoned a nicety : but, independently of any nicety 
in the matter, I would ask, what could the bee do 
with the honey, if it had not the wax? how, at 
least, could it store it up for winter? The wax, 
therefore, answers a purpose with respect to the 
honey ; and the honey constitutes that purpose with 
respect to the wax. 'This is the relation between 



OF INSECTS. 199 

them. But the two substances, though, together; 
of the greatest use, and, without each other, of 
little, come frosn a different origin. The bee finds 
the honey, but makes the wax. The honey is 
lodged in the nectaria of flowers, and probably un- 
dergoes little alteration : is merely collected : 
whereas the wax is a ductile, tenacious paste, made 
out of a dry powder, not simply by kneading it with 
a liquid, but by a digestive process in the body of 
the bee. What account can be rendered of facts 
so circumstanced, but that the animal, being in- 
tended to feed upon honey, was, by a peculiar ex- 
ternal configuration, enabled to procure it ? That, 
moreover, wanting the honey when it could not be 
procured at all, it was farther endued with the no 
less necessary faculty of constructing repositories 
for its preservation ? Which faculty, it is evident, 
must depend, primarily, upon the capacity of pro- 
viding suitable materials. Two distinct functions 
go to make up the ability. First, the power in the 
bee, with respect to wax, of loading the farina of 
flowers upon its thighs. Microscopic observers 
speak of the spoon-shaped appendages with which 
the thighs of bees are beset for this very purpose ; 
but, in as much as the art and will of the bee may 
be supposed to be concerned in this operation, 
there IS, secondly, that which doth not rest in art 
or will, — a digestive faculty which converts the 
loose powder into a stiff substance. This is a just 
account of the honey, and the honey-comb ; and 
this account, through every part, carries a creative 
intelligence along with it. 

The sting also of the bee has this relation to the 
honey, that it is necessary for the protection of a 
treasure which invites so many robbers. 

MI. Our business is with mechanism. In the 
panorpa tribe of insects, there is a forceps in thp 
tiil of the male insect, with which he catches and 
holds the female. Are a pair of pincers more me- 
chanical than this provision in its structure ? or is 
any structure more clear and certain in its design? 

IV. St. Pierre tells us,* that in a fly whh six feet 
i'l do not reniember that he describes the species.) 

* Vf.l. i. ^ 31?. ^^ 



^ 



200 OF INSECTS. 

the pai? next the head and the pair next the tail, 
have brushes at their extremities, with which the 
fly dresses, as there may be occasion, the anterior 
or the posterior part of its body ; but that the mid- 
dle pair have no such brushes, the situation of these j 
legs not admitting of the brushes, if they were 
there, being converted to the same use. This is -a 
very exact mechanical distinction. 

V. If the reader^ looking to our distributions of 
science, wish to contemplate the chymistry,as well 
as the mechanism, of nature, the insect' creation 
will afford him an example. I refer to the light in 
the tail of a glow-tcoi^m. Two points seem to be 
agreed upon by naturalists concerning it : first, 
that it is phosphoric ; secondly, that its use is to 
attract the male insect. The only thin^ to be in- 
cjuired after, is the singularity, if any such there be, 
in the natural history of this animal which should ' 
render a provision of this kind more necessary for 
it; than for other insects. That singularity seems 
to be the difference which subsists between the 
male and the female ; which difference is greater' 
than what we find in any other species of animal 
whatever. The glow-worm is a female caterpillar ; 
the male of which is o, fly : lively, comparatively 
small, dissimilar to the female in appearance, pro- 
bably also as distinguished from her in habits. pur- 
suits, and manners, as he is unlike in form and ex- 
ternal constitution. Here then is the adversity of 
the case. The caterpillar cannot meet her com- 
panion in the air. The winged rover disdains the 
ground. They might never therefore be brought 
together, did not this radiant torch direct the vola- 
tile mate to his sedentary female. 

In this example, we also see the resources of art 
anticipated. One grand operation of chymistry is 
the making of phosphorus : and it was thought an 
ingenious Hevice, to make phosphoric matches sup- 
ply the place of lighted tapers. Now this very 
thing is done in the body of the glow-worm. The 
phosphorus is not only made, but kindled ; and 
caused to emit a steady and genial beam, for the 
purpose which is here stated, and which I believe 
to be the true one. 

VL Nor is the last the only instance that ento 



OF INSECTS. 20i 

j moiogy affords, in which our discoveries; or rather 
our projects, turn out to be imitations of nature. 
Some years ago, a plan was suggested, of producing 
propulsion by reaction in this way : by the force ol 
a steam-engine, a stream of water was to be shot 
out of the stern of a boat ; the impulse of which 
stream upon the water in the river, was to pusli 
the boat itself forward ; it is, in truth, the principle 
by which sky-rockets ascend in the air. Of the use 
or practicability of the plan, I am not speaking ;, 
nor is it my concern to praise its ingenuity : but it 
is certainly a contrivance. Now, if naturalists are 
to be believed, it is exactly the device which nature 
has made use of, for the motion of some species of 
aquatic insects. The larva of the dragon-jiij, ac 
cording to Adams, swims by ejecting water froru 
its tail ; is driven forward by the reaction of water 
in the pool upon the current issuing in a direction 
backward from its body, 

VII. Again : Europe has lately been surprised 
by the elevation of bodies in the air by means of a 
balloon. The discovery consisted in finding out a 
manageable substance, which was, bulk for bulk, 
lighter than air ; and the application of the discove- 
ry was, to make a body composed of this substance 
bear up, along with its own vv^eight, some heavier 
body which was attached to it. This expedient, so 
new to us, proves to be no other than what the Au- 
thor of nature has employed in the gossamer spider. 
We frequently see this spider's thread floating in 
the air, and extended from hedge to hed^e, across 
a road or brook of four or jfive yards width. The 
! animal which forms the thread has no wings where- 
with to fly from one extremity to the other of this 
line ; nor muscles to enable, it to spring or dart to 
1 so great a distance : yet its Creator hath laid for it 
■' a path in the atmosphere ; and after this manner. 
I Though the animal itself be heavier than air, the 
' thread which it spins from its bowels is specifically 
lighter. This is its balloon. The spider, left to it- 
; self, would drop to the ground ; but being tied to 
- its thread, both are supported. We have here a 
^ very peculiar provision : and to a cont(?mplative 
) eye it is a gratifying specteicle, to see this insect 
wafted on her thread, sustained by a levity not her 
17 



'202 OF INSECTS. 

own, and traversing regions, which, if we examined 
only the body of the animal, might seem to have 
been forbidden to its nature. 



I must now crave the reader's permission to in- 
troduce into this place, for want of a better, an ob- 
servation or two upon the tribe of animals, whether 
belonging to land or water, which are covered by 
shells. 

I. The shells of snodls are a wonderful, a me- 
chanical, and, if one might so speak concerning the 
works of nature, an original contrivance. Other 
animals have their proper retreats, their hyberna- 
".3ula also, or winter-quarters, but the snail carries 
these about with him. He travels with his tent : 
and this tent, though, as was necessary, both light 
and thin, is complefely impervious either to moisture 
or air. The young snail comes out of its egg with 
the shell upon its back; and the gradual enlarge- 
ment which the shell receives, is derived from the 
slime excreted by the animal's skin. Now the apt- 
ness of this excretion to the purpose, its property 
of hardening into a shell, and the action, whatever 
It be, of the animal, whereby it avails itself of it.^ 
gifts, and of the constitution of its glands, (to say 
nothing of the work being commenced before the 
animal is born,) are things which can, with no pro- 
bability, be referred to any other cause than to ex- 
press design ; and that not on the part of the ani- 
mal alone, in which design, though it might build 
the house, could not have supplied the material. 
The will of the animal could not determine the 
quality of the excretion. Add to which, that the 
shell of a snail, with its pillar and convolution, is a 
very artificial fabric ; whilst a snail, as it should 
seem, is the most numb and unprovided of all arti- 
ficers. In the midst of variety, there is likewise a 
regularity, which would hardly be expected. In the 
same sj ecies of snail, the number of turns is usually, 
jf not always, the same. The sealing up of the 
mouth of the shell by the snail, is also well calcu- 
lated for its warmth and security ; but the cerate 
is not of the same substance with the shell. 



OF INSECTS. 203 

II. Blucli of what has been observed of snailS; 
belongs to shell-fish^ and their shells, particularly to 
those of the univalve kind ; with the addition of two 
remarks : one of which is upon the great strength 
and hardness of most of these shells. I do not 
know whether, the weight being given, art can 
produce so strong a case as are some of these 
shells. Which defensive strength suits well with 
the life of an animal, that has often to sustain the 
dangers of a stormy element, and a rocky bottom, 
as well as the attacks of voracious fish. The 
other remark is, upon the property, in the animal 
excretion, not only of congealing, but of congeal- 
ing, or, as a builder would call it, setting, in water, 
and into a cretaceous substance, firm and hard. 
This property is much more extraordinary, and^ 
chymically speaking, niore specific, than that of 
hardening in the air ; which may he reckoned a 
kind of exsiccation, like the drying of clay into 
bricks. 

III. In the bivalve order of shell-fish, cockles, 
muscles, oysters, &c. what contrivance can be so 
simple or so clear, as the insertion, at the back, of 
a tough tendinous substance, that becomes at once 
the ligament which binds the two shells together^ 
and the hinge upon which they open and shut ? 

IV. The shell of a lobster's tail, in its articula- 
tions and overlappings, represents the jointed part 
of a coat of mail ; or rather, which I believe to be 
the truth, a coat of mail is an imitation of a lob- 
ster's shell. The same end is to be answered by 
both : the same properties, therefore, are required 
in both, namely, hardness and flexibility, a cover- 
ing which may guard the part without obstructing 
its motion. For this double purpose, the art of 
man, expressly exercised upon the subject, has not 
been able to devise any thin^ better than what na- 
ture presents to his observation. Is not this there- 
fore mechanism, which the mechanic, having a si- 
milar purpose in view, adopts ? Is the structure ol 
a coat of mail to be referred to art ? Is the same 
structure of the lobster, conducing to the same 
use, to be referred to any thing less than art ? 

Some, who may acknowledge the imitation, and 
assent to the inference which we draw from it, in 



S04 OF INSECTS. 

the instance before us, may be disposed, possibly , 
to ask, why such imitations are not more frequent 
than they are, if it be true, as we allege, that the 
same principle of intelligence, design, and mecha- 
nical contrivance, was exerted in the formation of 
natural bodies, as we employ in the making of the 
various instruments by which our purposes are 
served? The answers to this question are, first, 
that It seldom happens, that precisely the same 
purpose, and no other, is pursued iii any work 
which we compare, of nature and of art ; secondly, 
that it still more seldom happens, that we can imi- 
tate nature, if we would. Our materials and our 
workmanship are equally deficient. Springs and 
wires, and cork and leather, produce a poor sub- 
stitute for an arm or a hand. In the example 
which we have selected, I mean a lobster's shell 
compared with a coat of mail, these difficulties 
stand less in the way, than in almost any other 
that can be assigned : and the consequence is, as 
we have seen, that art gladly borrows from nature 
her contrivance, and imitates it closely. 



But to return to insects. I think it is in this class 
of animals above all others, especially when we 
lake in the multitude of species which the micro- 
scope discovers, that we are struck with what 
Cicero has called '^ the insatiable variety of nature."' 
There are said to be six thousand species of flies ; 
seven hundred and sixty butterflies ; each different 
from all the rest. (St. Pierre.) The same writer 
tells us, from his own observation, that thirty-seven 
species of winged insects, with distinctions well 
expressed, visited a single strawberry -plant in the 
course of three weeks.* Ray observed, within the 
compass of a mile or two of his own house, two 
hundred kinds of butterflies, nocturnal and diurnal. 
He likewise asserts, but, I think, without any 
grounds of exact computation, that the number of 
species of insects, reckoning all sorts of them, may 
not be short of ten thou sand. f And in this vast 

* Vol. i. p. ?. t Wisd. of Cod, p. 23. 



OF INSECTS. 205 

variety of animal forms (for the observation is not 
confined to insects, though more applicable per- 
haps to them than to any other clasS;) we are some- 
times led to take notice of the different methods, or 
rather of the studiously diversified methods, by 
which one and the same purpose is attained. In 
the article of breathing, for example, which was to 
be provided for in some way or other, besides the 
ordinary varieties of lungs, gills, and breathing- 
holes (for insects in general respire, not by the 
mouth, but through holes in the sides,) thenymphse 
of gnats have an apparatus to raise their backs to 
the top of the water, and so take breath. The 
}iydrocanthari do the like by thrusting their tails 
out of the water.* The maggot of the eruca labra 
has a long tail, one part sheathed within another, 
(but which it can draw out at pleasure,) with a 
starry tuft at the end, by which tuft, when expand- 
ed upon the surface, the insect both supports itself 
in the water, and draws in the air which is neces- 
sary. In the article of natural clothing, we have 
the skins of animals invested with scales, hair, fea- 
thers, mucus, froth ; or itself turned into a shell or 
crust : in the no less necessary article of offence 
and defence, we have teeth, talons, beaks, horns, 
stings, prickles, with (the most singular expedient 
for the same purpose) the power of giving the elec- 
tric shock, and, as is credibly related of some ani- 
mals, of driving away their pursuers by an intole- 
rable foetor, or of blackening the water through 
which they are pursued. The consideration ot 
these appearances might induce us to believe, that 
variety itself, distinct from every other reason, was 
a motive in the mind of the Creator, or with the 
agents of his will. 

To this gr0at variety in organized life, the Deity 
has given, or perhaps there arises out of it, a cor- 
responding variety of animal appetites. For the 
final cairse of this we have not far to seek. Did ail 
animals covet the same element, retreat, or food, ii 
is evident how much fewer conld be supplied and 
accommodated, than what at present live conve- 
niently together, and find a plentiful subsistence. 

* Derham, p. 7. 



206 OF PLANTS. 

What one nature rejects, another delights in. 
Food which is nauseous to one tribe of animals, be- 
comes, by that very property which makes it nau- 
seous, an alluring dainty to another tribe. Carrion 
is a treat to dogs, ravens, vultures, fish. The ex- 
halations of corrupted substances, attract flies by 
crowds. Maggots revel in putrefaction. 



CHAP. XX. 

Of plants, 

I THINK a designed and studied mechanism to 
be, in general, more evident in animals than in 
plants : and it is unnecessary to dwell upon a 
weaker argument, where a stronger is at hand. 
There are, however, a few observations upon the 
vegetable kingdom, which lie so directly in our 
way, that it would be improper to pass by them 
without notice. 

The one great intention of nature in the struc- 
ture of plants seems to be the perfecting of the 
seed ; and, what is part of the same intention, the 
preserving of it until it be -perfected. This inten- 
tion shows itself, in the first place, by the care 
which appears to be taken, to protect and ripen, by 
every advantage which can be given to them of 
situation in the plant, those parts which most im- 
mediately contribute to fructification, viz. the an- 
therae, the stamina, and the stigmata. These parts 
are usually lodged in the centre, the recesses, or 
the labyrinths, of the flower; during their tender 
and immature state, ar*-: shut up in the stalk, or 
sheltered in the bud : as soon as they have acquired 
firmness of texture sufficient to bear exposure, and 
are ready to perform the important office which is 
assigned to them, they are disclosed to the light 
and air, by the bursting of the stem, or the expan- 
sion of the petals ; after which they have, in many 
cases, by the very form of the flower during its 
blow, the light and warmth reflected upon them 
from the concave side of the cup. What is called 
also the sleep of plants, is the leaves or petals dis- 
posing themselves in such a manner as to shelter 



OF PLANTS. 20? 

vhe young stems, buds, or fruit. They turn up, or 
they fall down, according as this purpose renders 
either change of position requisite. In the growth 
of corn, whenever the plant begins to shoot, the 
two upper leaves of the stalk join together, em- 
brace the ear, and protect it till the pulp has ac- 
quired a certain degree of consistency. In some 
water-plants, the flowering and fecundation are 
carried on within the stem, which afterward opens 
to let loose the impregnated seed.* The pea or 
papilionaceous tribe, enclose the parts of f ructifi 
cation wkhin a beautiful folding of the internal 
blossom, ^pmetimes called, from its shape, the 
boat or keel ; itself also protected under a pent- 
house forni|d by the external petals. This struc- 
ture is ver^artificial ; and, what adds to the value 
of it, though it may diminish the curiosity, very 
general. It has also this farther advantage, (and 
it is an advantage strictly mechanical,) that all the 
blossoms turn their hacks to the wind, whenever the 
gale blows strong enough to endanger the delicate 
parts upon which the seed depends. I have ob- 
served this a hundred times in a field of peas in 
blossom. It is an aptitude which results from the 
figure of the flower, and, as we have said, is strict- 
ly mechanical ; as much so, as the turning of a 
weather-board or tin cap upon the top of a chim- 
ney. Of the popjnj, and of many similar species of 
flowers, the head, while it is growing, hangs down, 
a rigid curvature in the upper part of the stem 
giving to it that position ; and in that position it is 
impenetrable by rain or moisture. When the head 
has acquired its size, and is ready to open, the 
stalk erects itself, for the purpose, as it should 
seem, of presenting the flower, and with the flower^ 
the instruments of fructification, to the genial in- 
fluence of the sun's rays. This always struck me 
as a curious property ; and specifically, as well as 
originally, provided for in the constitution of the 
plant : for, if the stem be only bent by the weight, 
of the head, how comes it to straighten itself when 
the head is the heaviest ? These instances show 
the attention of nature to this principal object, the 

* I'hilos. Transact, part ii. 1796 ; p. 502. 



:^08 OF PLANTS'. 

safety and maturation of the parts upon which the 
seed depends. 

In trees,^ especially in those which are natives of 
colder climates, this point is taken up earlier. 
Many of these trees (observe in particular the aslt 
and the horse-chesmd) produce the embryos of the 
leaves and flowers in one year, and bring them to 
perfection the following. There is a winter there- 
iore to be gotten over. Now what we are to re- 
mark iS; how nature has prepared for the trials and 
severities of that season. These tender embryos 
are, in the first place, wrapped up with^compact- 
ness, which no art can imitate : in if^ich state, 
they compose what we call the bud. This is not 
all. The bud itself is enclosed in sc^s ; which 
scales are formed from the remains of past leaves, 
and the rudiments of future ones. Neither is this 
the whole. In the coldest climates, a third preser- 
vative is added, by the bud having a coat of gum or 
resin, which, l3eing congealed, resists the strong- 
est frosts. On the approach of warm weather, 
this gum is softened, and ceases to be a hinderance 
to the expansion of the leaves and flowers. All this 
care is part of that system of provisions which has 
ibr its object and consummation, the production and 
perfecting of the seeds. 

The SEEDS themselves are packed up in a capsule. 
avessei composed of coats, which, compared with 
the rest of the flower, are strong and tough. From 
this vessel projects a tube, through which tube the 
farina, or some subtile fecundating effluvium that 
issues from it, is admitted to the seed. And here 
also occurs a mecl^anical variety, accommodated to 
the different circ-unstances under which the same 
purpose is to be accomplished. In flowers which 
are erect, the pistil is shorter than the stamina ; 
and the pollen, shed from the anther ae into the cup 
of the flower, is caught, in its descent, by the head 
of the pistil, called the stigma. But how is this 
m£Lnaged when the flowers hang down (as does the 
crown-imperial for instance,) and in which posi- 
tion, the farina, in its fall, would be carried from 
the stigma, and not towards it ? The relative 
length of the parts is now inverted. The pistil in 
■hese flowers is usuallv longer, instead of shorter. 



OF PLANTS. 209 

than tlie stamina^ that its protruding summit may 
receive the pollen as it drops to the ground. — 
In some cases (as in the nigella,) where the shafts 
of the pistils or stiles are disjsroportionablv long, 
they bend down their extremities upon the an- 
therae, that the necessary approximation may be 
effected. 

But (to pursue this great work in its progress,) 
the impregnation, to which all this machinery re- 
lates, being completed, the other parts of the flower 
fade and drop off whilst the gravid seed-vessel, on 
the contrary, proceeds to increase its bulk, always 
to a great, and in some species, (in the gourd, for 
example, and melon,) to a surprising comparative 
size ; assuming in different plants an incalculable 
variety of forms, but all evidently conducing to the 
security of the seed. By virtue of this process, so 
necessary, but so diversified, we have the seed, at 
length, in stone-fruits and nuts, incased in a strong 
shell, the shell itself enclosed in a pulp or husk, by 
which the seed within is, or hath been, fed ; or, 
more generally, (as in grapes, oranges, and the nu- 
merous kinds of berries,) plunged over-head in a 
flutinous syrup, contained within a skin or blad- 
er : at other times (as in apples and pears) imbed- 
ded in the heart of a firm fleshy substance ; or (as 
in strawberries) pricked into the surface of a soft 
pulp. 

These and many more varieties exist in what we 
call fruits.^ In pulse, and grain, and grasses ; in 



* From the conformation of fruits alone, one mig^ht be led, even 
withoiit experience, to suppose, that part of this provision was destin- 
ed for the utilities of animals. As limited to the plant, the provision 
itself Eeerri3 to g'o beyond its object. The flesh of an apple, the pulp 
of an orange, the meat of a plumb, the fatness of the olive, appear to 
be more than sufficient for the nourishing- of the seed or kernel. The 
event shows, that this redundancy, if it be one, miuisters to the sup- 
port and gratification of animal natures ; and -when we observe a pro- 
vision to be more than sufficient for one purpose, yet wanted for ano- 
ther purpose, it is not unfair to conclude that both purposes were con- 
templated together. It favours this view of the subject to remnrk, 
that fruits are not (which they might have been) ready all together, 
but that they ripen in succession throughout a great part of the year ; 
come in summer; some in autumn ; that some require the slow matu- 
ration of the winter, and supply the spring ; also that the coldest 
fruits grow in the hottest places. Cucumbers, pine-apples, melons. 



QIO OF PLANTS. 

trees, and shrubs, and flowers ; the variety of the 
seed-vessels is incomputable. We have the seeds 
(as in the pea tribe) regularly disposed in parch- 
ment pods, which, though soft and membranous, 
completely exclude the wet even in the heaviest 
rains ; the pod also, not seldom, (as in the bean,) 
lined with a fine down ; at other times (as in the 
senna) distended like a blown bladder : or we have 
the seed enveloped in wool, (as in the cotton-plant,) 
lodged (as in pines) between the hard and compact 
scales of a cone, or barricadoed (as in the artichoke 
and thistle) with spikes and prickles ; in mush- 
rooms, placed under a penthouse ; in fearns, within 
slits in the back part of the leaf; or (which is the 
most general organization of all) we find them co- 
vered by strong, close tunicles, and attached to the 
stem according to an order appropriated to each 
plant, as is seen in the several kinds of grains and 
of grasses. 

In which enumeration, what we have first to no- 
tice is, unity of purpose under variety of expedients. 
Nothing can be more single than the design ; more 
diversified than the means. Pellicles, shells, pulps, 
pods, husks, skin, scales armed with thorns, are 
all employed in prosecuting the same intention. — 
Secondly ; we may observe, that, in all these cases, 
the purpose is fulfilled within a just and limited de- 
gree. We can perceive, that if the seeds of plants 
were more strongly guarded than they are, their 
greater security would interfere with other uses. 

are the natural produce cf warm climates, aid c<ntrihute g^reatij', by 
their coolness, to the refreghraent of the iijhabilants of those coun- 
tries. 

I will add to this note the following' observation communicated to 
roe by Mr. Brinkley : 

" The eatable part of the cherry or peach first series the purposes 
cf perfecting- the seed or kerneJ, by means of vessels passiogr througrh 
the stone, and which are very visible in a peach- stone. Ader the 
kernel is perfected, the stone becomes hard, and the vessels cease 
their functioLS. But the substance surrounding the stone is Lot then 
thrown away as useless. That which was before only an instrument 
for perfecting the kernel, now receives and retains to itself the whole 
of the sun's influence, and thereby becomes a g-rateful food to man. 
Also what an evident mark of design is the stone protecting the ker- 
nel ! The intervention of the stone prevents the second use from iu 
tfirferin^ with the firet." 



OF PLANTS. 211 

Many species of animals would suffer, and many 
perish, if they could not obtain access to them.— * 
The plant would overrun the soil ; or the seed be 
wasted for want of room to sow itself. It is, some- 
times, as necessary to destroy particular species of 
plants, as it is, at other times, to encourage their 
growth. Here, as in many cases, a balance is to 
be maintained between opposite uses. The provi- 
sions for the preservation of seeds appear to be di» 
rected, chiefly against the inconstancy of the ele- 
ments, or the sweeping destruction of inclement 
seasons. The depredation of animals, and the in- 
juries of accidental violence, are allowed for in the 
abundance of the increase. The result is, that out 
of the many thousand different plants which cover 
the earth, not a single species, perhaps, has been 
lost since the creation. 

When nature has perfected her seeds, her next 
care is to disperse them. The seed cannot answer 
its purpose, whilst it remains confined in the cap- 
sule. After the seeds therefore are ripened, the 
pericarpium opens to let them out ; and the open- 
ing is not like an accidental bursting, but, for the 
most part, is according to a certain rule in each 
plant. What I have always thought very extraor- 
dinary ; nuts and shells, which we can hardly crack 
with our teeth, divide and make way for the little 
tender sprout which proceeds from the kernel. — 
Handling the nut, I could hardly conceive how the 
plantule was ever to get out of it. There are cases, 
it is said, in which the seed-vessel by an elastic 
jerk, at the moment of its explosion, casts the seeds 
to a distance. We all however know, that many 
seeds (those of most composite flowers, as of the 
thistle, dandelion, &c.) are endowed with what are 
not improperly called wings ; that is, downy ap- 
pendages, by. which they are enabled to float in the 
air, and are carried oftentimes by the wind to great 
distances from the plant which produces them. It 
is the swelling also of this downy tuft within the 
seed-vessel, that seems to overcome the resistance 
of its coats, and to open a passage for the seed to 
escape. 

But the constitution of seeds is still more admira-^ 
ble than cither their preservation or their dispey^ 



212 OF PLANTS. 

• 

sioii. In the body of the seed of every species of 
plant, or nearly of every one^ provisioais made for 
two grand purposes : first, for the safety of the 
^erm ; secondly, for the temporary support of thxj 
future plant. The sprout, as folded up m the seed, 
is delicate and brittle beyond any other substance. 
It cannot be touched wiihout being broken. Yet 
in beans, peas, grass-seeds, grain, fruits, it is so 
fenced on all sides, so shut up and protected, that, 
whilst the seed itself is rudely handled, tossed into 
sacks, shovelled into heaps, the sacred particle, the 
miniature plant, remains unhurt. It is wonderful 
also, how long many kinds of seeds, by the help of 
their integuments, and perhaps of their oils, stand 
out against decay. A grain of mustard seed has 
been known to lie in the earth for a hundred years : 
and, as soon as it had acquired a favourable situa- 
tion, to shoot as vigorously as if just gathered from 
the plant. Then, as to the second point, the tem- 
porary support of the future plant, the matter 
stands thus. In grain, and pulse, and kernels, and 
pippins, the germ composes a very small part of the 
seed. The rest consists of a nutritious substance, 
from which the sprout draws its aliment for some 
considerable time after it is put forth ; viz. until the 
fibres, shot out from the other end of the seed, are 
able to imbibe juices from the earth, in a sufficient 
quantity for its demand. It is owing to this con- 
stitution, that we see seeds sprout, and the sprouts 
make a considerable progress, without any earth 
at all. It is an economy also, in which we remark 
a close analogy between the seeds of plants, and 
the eggs of animals. The same point is provided 
for, in the same manner, in both. In the egg, the 
residence of the lining principle, the cicatrix forms 
a very minute part of the contents. The white 
and the white only is expended in the formation of 
the chicken. The yolk, very little altered or di- 
minished, is wrapped up in the abdomen of the 
young bird, when it quits the shell : and serves for 
its nourishment, till it have learnt to pick its own 
food. This perfectly resembles the first nutrition 
of a plant. In the plant, as well as in the animal, 
the structure has every character of contrivance 
belonging to it : in both it breaks the transition 



OF PLANTS, 213 

from prepared to unprepared aliment ; in both, it 
is prospective and eompensatori^. In animals 
which suck' this intermediate nourishment is sup- 
plied by a different source. 

In all subjects, the most common observations 
are the best, when it is their truth and strength 
which have made them common. There are, of 
this sort, two concerning plants, which it falls with- 
in our plan to notice. The first relates to, what has 
already been touched upon, their germination. 
When a grain of corn is cast into the ground, this 
is the change which takes place. From one end 
of the grain issues a green sprout ; from the other 
a number of fibrous threads. How can this be ex- 
plained ? Why not sprouts from both ends ? why 
not fibrous threads from both ends ? To what is the 
difference to be referred, but to design ; to the dif- 
ferent uses which the parts are thereafter to serve ; 
uses which discover themselves in the sequel of the 
process ? The sprout, or plumule, struggles into 
the air ; and becomes the plant, of which, from the 
first, it contained the rudiments : the fibres shoot 
into the earth ; and, thereby, both fix the plant to 
the ground, and collect nourishment from the soil 
for its support. Now, what is not a little remarka- 
ble, the parts issuing from the seed take their re- 
spective directions, into whatever position the seed 
itself happens to be cast. If the seed be thrown 
into the wrongest possible position ; that is, if the 
ends point in the ground, the reverse of what they 
ought to do, every thing, nevertheless, goes on 
right. The sprout, after being pushed down a 
little way, makes a bend, and turns upwards ; the 
fibres, on the contrary, after shooting at first up- 
wards, turn down. Of this extraordinary vegeta- 
ble fact, an account has lately been attempted to be 
given. '^ The plumule (it is said) is stimulated by 
the air into action, and elongates itself when it is 
thus most excited ; the radicle is stimulated by 
inoisture, and elongates itself when it is thus most 
excited. Whence one of these grows upward in 
quest of its adapted object, and the other down- 
ward.''^ Were this account better verified by ex- 

"^ Darwin's Phytologia, p. 144, 



214 OF PLANTS. 

periment than it is, it only shifts the contrivance. 
It does not disprove the contrivance;, it only re= 
moves it a little farther back. Who, * to use our 
author's own language, ^^ adapted the objects V* 
Who gave such a quality to these connate parts, as 
to be susceptible of different " stunulation ;" as to 
be ^* excited" each only by its own element, and 
precisely by that which the success of the vegeta- 
tion requires 1 I say, '^ which the success of the 
vegetation requires :'' for the toil of the husband- 
man would have been in vain ; his laborious and 
expensive preparation of the ground in vain ; if the 
event must, after all, depend upon the position in 
which the scattered seed was sown. Not one seed 
out of a hundred would fall in a right direction. 

Our second observation is upon a general proper- 
ty of climbing plants, which is strictly mechanical. 
In these plants, from each knot or joint, or, as 
botanists call it, axilla, of the plant, issue, close to 
each other, two shoots : one bearing the flower 
and fruit ; the other, drawn out into a wire, a long, 
tapering, spiral tendril, that twists itself round any 
thing which lies within its reach. Considering, 
that in this class two purposes are to be provided 
for, (and together,) fructification and support, the 
fruitage of the plant, and the sustentation of the 
stalk, what means could be used more effectual, or, 
as I have said, more mechanical, than what this 
structure presents to our eyes ? Why, or how, 
without a view to this double purpose, do two shoots, 
of such different and appropriate forms, spring 
from the same joint, from contiguous points of the 
same stalk ? It never happens thus in robust plants, 
or in trees. ^^ We see not (says Ray) so much as 
one tree, or shrub, or herb, that hath a firm and 
strong stem, and that is able to mount up and stand 
alone without assistance, furnished with these ten- 
drils.'^ Make only so simple a comparison as that 
betw^een a pea and a bean. Why does the pea put 
forth tendrils, the bean not ; but because the stalk 
of the pea cannot support itself, the stalk of the 
bean can ? We may add, also, as a circumstance 
not to be overlooked, that in the pea tribe, these 
clasps do not make their appearance till they are 



OF PLANTS, 215 

wanted ; till the plant has grown to a height to 
stand in need of support. 

This word '^ support'^ suggests to us a reflection 
upon a property of grasses, of corn, and canes, 
The hollow stems of these classes of plants are 
set, at certain intervals, with joints. These joints 
are not found in the trunks of trees, or in the solid 
stalks of plants. There may be other uses of these 
ioints ; but the fact is, and it appears to be, at 
least, one purpose designed by them, that they 
corroborate the stem ; which, by its length and hol- 
lowness, would otherwise be too liable to break or 
bend. 

Grasses. ai*e Nature's care. With these she 
clothes the earth ; with these she sustains its in- 
habitants. Cattle feed upon their leaves ; birds 
upon their smaller seeds ; men upon the larger : 
for, iQsv readers need be told that the plants which 
produce our bread-corn, belong to this class. In 
those tribes, which are more generally considered 
as grasses, their extraordinary means and powers 
of preservation and increase, their hardiness, their 
almost unconquerable disposition to spread, their 
faculties of reviviscence, coincide with the intention 
of nature concerning them. They thrive under a 
treatment by which other plants are destroyed. 
The more their leaved are consumed, the more their 
roots increase. The more they are trampled upon, 
the thicker they grow. Many of the seemingly 
dry and dead leaves of grasses revive, and renew 
their verdure, in the spring. In lofty mountains, 
where the summer heats are not sufficient to ripen 
the seeds, grasses abound, which are viviparous, 
and consequently able to propagate themselves 
without seed. It is an observation, likewise, which 
has often been made, that herbivorous animals at- 
tach themselves to the leaves of grasses ; and, if 
at liberty in their pastures to range and choose, 
leave untouched the straws which support the 
flowers.* # 

The GENERAL properties of vegetable nature, or 
properties common to large portions of that king- 
dom, are almost all which the compass of our ar- 

* Withering-, Bot. Ajt. vol, i. p. 23. ed. 2d. 



216 OF PLANTS. 

gument allows to bring forward. It is impossible 
to follow plants into their several species. We 
may be allowed, however^ to single out three or 
four of these species as worthy of a particular no- 
tice, either by some singular mechanism, or by 
some peculiar provision, or by both. 

I. In Dr. Darwin's Botanic Garden (1. 395, note,) 
is the following account of the vallisneria, as it has 
been observed in the river Rhone.—" They have 
roots at the bottom of the Rhone. The "flowers of 
the female plant float on the surface of the water, 
and are furnished with an elastic j spiral stalk, which 
extends or contracts as the water rises or falls ; 
this rise or fall, from the torrents which flow 

Jnto the river, often amounting to many feet in a 
few hours. The flowers of the male plant are pro- 
duced under water ; and, as soon as the fecundating 
farina is mature, they separate themselves from the 
plant ; rise to the surface ; and are wafted by the 
air, or borne hy the currents, to the female flowers." 
Our attention in this narrative will be directed to 
two particulars : first, to the mechanism, the " elaS' 
tic, spiral stalk," which lengthens or contracts 
itself according as the water rises or falls , second- 
ly, to the provision which is made for bringing the 
male flower, which is produced under water, to the 
female flower which floats upon the surface. 

II. My second example I take from Withering's 
Arrangement, vol. ii. p. 209. ed. 3. '^ The cuscuta 
etiropcBa is a parasitical plant. The seed opens, 
and puts forth a little spiral body, which does not 
seek the earth, to take root ; but climbs in a spiral 
direction, from right to left, up other i)lants, from 
which, by means of vessels, it draws its nourish- 
ment. '^ The '' little spiral body'' proceeding from 
the seed, is to be compared with the fibres which 
seeds send out in ordinary cases : and the compa- 
rison ought to regard both the form of the threads 
and the direction. They are straight ; this is spi- 
ral. They shtoot downwards ; this points upwards. 
Tn the rule^ and in the exception, we equally per- 
<'eive ilesign. 

III. A better known parasitical plant is the ever- 
green, shrub, called the mistletoe. What we have to 
remark in it, is a singular instance q{ compensation. 



OF PLANTS. 217 

No art hath yet made these plants take root in the 
earth. Here therefore might seem to be a mortal 
defect in their constitution. Let us examine how 
this defect is made up to them. The seeds are en- 
dued with an adhesive quality, so tenaciouS; that if 
they be rubbed upon the smooth bark of almost any 
treC; they will stick to it. And then what follows ? 
Roots springing from these seeds, insinuate their 
fibres into the woody substance of the tree ; and the 
event is, that a mistletoe plant is produced next 
winter.* Of no other plant do the roots refuse to 
shoot into the ground ; of no other plant do the 
seeds possess this adhesive, generative quality, 
when applied to the bark of trees. 

IV. Another instance of the compensatory system 
is in the autumnal crocus, or meadow saffron (col- 
chicum aiitumnale.) I have pitied this poor plant a 
thousand times. Its blossom rises out of the ground 
in the most forlorn condition possible ; without a 
sheath, a fence, a calyx, or even a leaf to protect 
it : and that, not in the spring, not to be visited by 
summer suns, but under ail the disadvantages of the 
declining year. When we come, however, to look 
more closely into the structure of this plant, we 
find that, instead of its being neglected. Nature has 
gone out of her course to provide for its security, 
and to make up to itifor all its defects. The seed- 
vessel, which in other plants is situated within the 
cup of the flower, or just beneath it, in this plant 
lies buried ien or twelve inches under ground with- 
in the bulbous root. The tube of the flower, wliich 
is seldom more than a few tenths of an inch long, 
in this plant extends down to the root. The stiles 
"n all cases reach the seed-vessel ; but it is in this, 
!>y an elongation unknown to any other plant. AH 
these singularities contribute to one end. '^ As this 
plant blossoms late in the year, and, probably, 
Avould not have time to ripen its seeds before the 
access of winter, which would destroy them ; Pro- 
vidence has contrived its structure such, that this 
important office may be performed at a depth in the 
earth out of reach of the usual effects of frost."! 

* \rithering-, Bot. Arr. vol. i. p. 203. ed. 2'i. 
t Withering-, ubi supra, p. 3G0. 

18 



218 OF PLANTS, 

That is to say, in the autumn nothing is done above 
ground but the business of impregnation ; which is 
an affair between the antherae and stigmata, and is 
probably soon over. The maturation of the impreg- 
nated seed, which in other plants proceeds within a 
capsule, exposed together with the rest of the flower 
to the open air, is here carried on, and during the 
whole winter, within the heart, as we may say, cf 
the earth, that is, ^' out of the reach of the usual 
effects of frost.'' But then a new difficulty presents 
itself : Seeds, though perfected, are known not to 
vegetate at this depth in the earth. Our seedS; 
therefore, though so safel}^ lodged, would, after all,- 
be lost to the purpose for which all seeds are ir,= 
tended. Lest this should be the case, ^' a second 
admirable provision is made to raise them above the ? 
surface when they are perfected, and to sow them ] 
at a proper distance ;" viz. the germ grows up in j 
the spring, upon a fruit-stalk, accompanied with i 
leaves. The seeds now, in common with those of | 
other plants, have the benefit of the summer, and ' 
are sown upon the surface. The order of vegeta- ] 
tion externally is this : — The plant produces its 
flowers in September ; its leaves and fruits in the > 
spring following. j 

V. I give the account of the dioiice mnscipula, an ] 
extraordinary American plant, as some late authors ■ 
have related it : but whether we be yet enough ac- ,. 
quainted with the plant, to bring every part of this 5 
account to the test of repeated and familiar observa- ; 
tion, I am unable to say. '' Its leaves are jointed ] 
and furnished with two rows of strong prickles ; j 
their surfaces covered with a number of minute ' 
glands, w^hich secrete a sweet liquor that allures ) 
the approach of flies. When these parts are touch- ■ 
ed by the legs of flies, the two lobes of the leaf in- 
stantly spring up, the rows of prickles lock them- 
selves fast together, and squeeze the unwary animal 
to death."* Here, under a new model, we recog- 
nise the ancient plan of nature, viz. the relation of - 
parts and provisions to one another, to a common 
o'fice, and to the utility of the organized body to 
which t!iey belong. The attracting syrup, the 

* Smellie's Phil, of Nat. Hist, vol, /. p. 5. 



THE ELEMENTS. 219 

rows of strong prickles, their position so as to in- 
terlock the joints of the leaves; and, what is more 
than the rest, that singular irritability of their sur- 
faces, by which they close at a touch ; all bear a 
contributory part in producing an eftect, connected 
either with the defence or with the nutrition of the 
plant. 



CHAP. XXL 

The elements. 

When we come to the elements, we take leave 
of our mechanics ; because we come to those things y 
of the organization of which, if they be jrganized, 
we are confessedly ignorant. This ignorance is 
implied by their name. To say the truth, our in- 
vestigations are stopped long before we arrive at 
this point. But then it is for our comfort to find, 
that a knowledge of the constitution of the elements 
is not necessary for us. For instance, as Addison 
has well observed, '' we know water sufficiently, 
when we know how to boil, how to freeze, how to 
evaporate, how to make it fresh, how to make it 
run or spout out, in! what quantity and direction we 
please, without knowing what water is." The ob- 
servation of this excellent writer has more proprie- 
ty in it now, than it had at the time it was made ; 
for the constitution, and the constituent parts, of 
water, appear in some measure to have been lately 
discovered ; yet it does not, I think, appear, that we 
can make any better or greater use of water since 
the discovery, than we did before it. 

We can never think of the elements, without re- 
flecting upon the number of distinct uses which are 
consolidated mth^. same substance. The atV sup- 
plies the lunj^s, supports fire, conveys sound, re- 
flects light, diffuses smells, gives rain, wafts ships, 
bears up birds. E| v^otrogr ra. 'pravTot, : water, besides 
maintaining its own inhabitants, is the universal 
nourisher of plants, and through them of terrestrial 
animals ; is the basis of their juices and fluids ; di- 
lutes their food ; quenches their thirst, floats their 
burdens. Fire warms, dissolves, enlightens ; is the 



220 THE ELEMENTS. 

great promoter of vegetation and life, if not neces- 
sary for the support of both. 

We might enlarge, to almost any length we 
pleased; upon each of these uses ; but it appears to 
me almost sufficient to state them. The few remarks 
which I judge it necessary to add, are as follow : 

I. Air is essentially different from earth. There 
appears to be no necessity for an atmosphere's in- 
vesting our globe ; yet it does invest it ; and we 
see how many, how various^ and how important, 
are the purposes which it answers to every order of 
animated, not to say of organized, beings, which 
are placed upon the terrestrial surface. I think that 
every one of these uses will be understood upon the 
first mention of them, except it be that o^ reflectbig 
light, which may be explained thus : — If I had the . 
power of seeing only by means of rays coming di- j 
rectly from the sun, whenever I turned my back ^ 
upon the luminary, I should find myself in darkness. | 
If I had the power of seeing by reflected light', yet J 
by means only of light reflected from solid masses, i 
these masses would shine indeed, and glisten, but j 
it would be in the dark. The hemisphere, the sky, j 
the world, could only be illumino.ted, as it is illumi- j 
nated, by tlie light of the sun being from all sides, 
and in every direction, reflected to the eye, by par- 
ticles, as numerous, as thickly scattered, and as 
widely diffused, as are those of the air. 

Another general quality of the atmosphere is the 
power of evaporating fluids. The adjustment of 
this quality to our use is seen in its action upon 
the sea. In the sea, w^ater and salt are mixed to- 
gether most intima,tely : yet the atmosphere raises 
the water and leaves the salt. Pure and fresh as 
drops of rain descend, they are collected from brine. 
If evaporation be solution, (which seems to be pro- 
bable,) then rhe air dissolves the water, and not the 
ssdt. Upon whatever it be founded, the distinction 
is critical ; so much so, that when we attempt to 
imitate the process by art, we must regulate our 
distillation with great care and nicety, or, together 
with the water, we get the bitterness, or, at least, 
the distastefulness, of the marine substance : and 
after all it is owing to this original elective power 



THE ELEMENTS, 221 

m the air, that we can effect the separation which 
we wish; by any ait or means whatever. 

By evaporation, water is carried up into the air ; 
by the converse of evaporation, it falls down 
upon the earth. And how does it fall ? Not by the 
clouds being all at once reconverted into water^ 
and descending like a sheet ; not in rushing down 
in columns from a spout ; but in moderate drops, as 
from a colander. Our watering-pots are made to 
imitate showers of rain. Yet, a prioriy I should 
have thought either of the two former methods 
more likely to have taken place than the last. 

By respiration, flame, putrefaction, air is render- 
ed unfit for the support of animal life. By the 
constant operation of these corrupting principles, 
the whole atmosphere, if there were no restoring 
causes, would come at length to be deprived of its 
necessary degree of purity. Some of these causes 
seem to have been discovered ; and their efficacy 
ascertained by experiment. And so far as the dis- 
covery has proceeded, it opens to us a beautiful 
and a wonderful economy. Vegetation proves to 
be one of them. A sprig of mint, corked up with 
a small portion of foul air, placed in the light, ren- 
ders it again capable of supporting life or flam.e. 
Here, therefore, is'' a constant circulation of benefits 
maintained between the two great provinces of or- 
ganized nature. The plant purifies, what the ani- 
mal has poisoned ; in return, the contaminated air 
is more than ordinarily nutricious to the plant. 
Agitation with water turns out to be another of 
these restoratives. The foulest air, shaken in a 
bottle with water for a sufficient length of time, re- 
covers a great degree of its purity. Here then 
again, allowing for the scale upon which nature 
works, we see the salutary eftects of storms and 
tempests. The yesty waves, which confound the 
heaven and the pea, are doing the very thing wl'ich 
was done in the bottle. Nothing can be of greater 
importance to the living creation, than the salubri- 
ty of their atmosphere. It ought to reconcile us 
therefore to these agitations of the elements, of 
which we sometimes deplore the consequences, to 
know, that they tend powerfully to restore to the 



222 THE ELE3IENTS. 

air that purity, which so many causes are con- 
stantly impairing. 

II. In water, what ought not a little to be admir- 
ed; are those negative qualities which constitute its 
puHty. Had it been vinous, or oleaginous, or acid ; 
had the sea been filled, or the rivers flowed, with 
wine, or milk ; fish, constituted as they are, must 
have died ; plants, constituted as they are, would 
have withered ; the lives of animals which feed 
upon plants, must have perished. Its very insipid' 
itij, which is one of those negative qualities, ren- 
ders it the best of all menstrua. Havmg no taste of 
its own, it becomes the sincere vehicle of every other. 
Had there been a taste in water, be it what it might, 
it would have infected every thing we ate or drank, 
with an importunate repetition of the same flavour. 

Another thing in this element, not less to be ad- 
mired, is the constant round which it travels ; and 
by which, without suffering either adulteration or 
waste, it is continually offering itself to the wants 
of the habitable globe. From the sea are exhaled 
those vapours which form the clouds • these clouds 
descend in showers, which, penetrating into the 
crevices of the hills, supply springs : which springs 
flow in little streams into the valleys ; and there 
uniting, become rivers ; which rivers, in return, 
feed the ocean. So there is an incessant circula- 
tion of the same fluid ; and not one drop probably 
more or less now than there was at the creation. 
A particle of water takes its departure from the 
surface of the sea, in order to fulfil certain impor- 
tant offices to the earth ; and, having executed the 
service which was assigned to it, returns to the 
bosom which it left. 

Some have thought, that we have too much wa- 
ter upon the globe, the sea occupying above three- 
quarters of its whole surface. But tlie expanse of 
ocean, immense as it is, may be no more than suffi- 
cient to fertilize the earth. Or, independently of 
this reason, I know not why the sea may not have 
as good a right to its place as the land. It may pro- 
portionably support as many inhabitants ; minister to 
as large an aggregate of enjoyment. The land only 
affords a habitable surface ; the sea is habitable to 
a great depth. 



' THE ELEMENTS. 223 

HI. Of fire, we have said that it dissolves. ^ The 
only idea probably which this term raised in the 
reader's mind, was that of fire melting metals, 
resins, and some other substances, fluxing ores, 
running glass, and assisting us in many of our ope- 
rations, chymical or culinary. Now these are only 
uses of an occasional kind, and give us a very im- 
perfect notion of what fire does for us. The grand 
importance of this dissolving power, the great 
office indeed of fire in the economy of nature, is 
keeping things in a state of solution, that is to say, 
in a state of fluidity. Were it not for the presence 
of heat, or of a certain degree of it, all fluids would 
be frozen. The ocean itself would be a quarry of 
ice ; universal nature stiff and dead. 

We see, therefore, that the elements bear not 
only a strict relation to the constitution of organ- 
ized bodies, but a relation to each other. Water 
could not perform its office to the earth without 
air ; nor exist, as water, without fire. 

IV. Of light (whether we regard it as of the 
same substance with fire, or as a different sub- 
stance,) it is altogether superfluous to expatiate 
upon the use. No man disputes it. The observa- 
tions, therefore, which I shall offer, respect that 
little which we seem to know of its constitution. 

Light travels from the sun at the rate of twelve 
millions of miles in a minute. Urged by such a 
velocity, with what force must its particles drive 
against (I will not say the eye, the tenderest ani- 
mal substances, but) every substance, animate or 
inanimate, which stands in its way ! It mightseem 
to be a force sufficient to shatter to atoms the hard- 
est bodies. 

How then is this effect, the consequence of such 
prodigious velocity, guarded against ? By a pro- 
portionable minuteness of the particles of which 
li^^ht is composed. It is impossible for the human 
mind to imnpne to itself any thing so small as a 
particle of light. But this extreme exility, though 
difficult to conceive, it is easy to prove. A drop of 
tallow^ expended in the wick of a farthing candle, 
Fhall sendf forth rays sufficient to fill a hemisphere 
of a mile diameter ; and to fill it so full of these 
rays, that an aperture not larger than the pupil of 



^U THE ELEMENTS. 

an eye, wherever it be placed within the hemi- 
sphere, shall be sure to receive some of them. 
What floods of light are continually poured from 
the suU; we cannot estimate ; but the immensity of 
the sphere which is filled with particles, even if it 
reached no farther than the orbit of the earth, we 
can in some sort compute : and we have reason to 
believe, that, throughout this whole region, the 
particles of light lie, in latitude at least, near to 
one another. The spissitude of the sun's rays at 
the earth is such, that the number which falls upon 
a burning-glass of an inch diameter, is sufficient, 
when concentrated, to set wood on fire. 

The tenuity and the velocity of particles of light, 
as ascertained by separate observations, may be 
said to be proportioned to each other; l30th sur- 
passing our utmost stretch of comprehension ; 
but proportioned. And it is this proportion alone 
which converts a tremendous element into a wel- 
come visiter. 

It has been observed to me by a learned friend, 
as having often struck his mind, that if light had 
been made by a common artist, it»would have been 
of one uniform colour, whereas, by its present 
composition, we have that variety of colours, 
which is of such infinite use to us for the distin- 
guishing of objects : which adds so much to the 
beauty of the earth, and augments the stock of our 
innocent pleasures. 

With which may be joined another reflection. 
ijiz. that, considering liglit as compounded of rays 
of seven different colours (of which there can be 
no doubt, because it can be resolved into these 
rays by simply passing it through a prism,) the 
constituent parts must be well mixed and blended 
together, to produce a fluid so clear and colour- 
less, as a beam of light is, when received from 
the sun. 



ASTRONOMY 22v. 

CHAP, XXIL 

AstronomTj /^ 
Mv opinion of Astronomy has always been, that 
t is not the best medium through which to prove 
the agency of an intelligent Creator ; but that, thfs 
being proved, it shows, beyond all other sciences, 
the magnificence of his operations. The mind 
which is once convinced, it raises to sublimer views 
of the Deity than any other subject affords ; but it 
is not so well adapted, as some other subjects are, 
to the purpose of argument. We are destitute of 
the means of examining the constitution of the 
heavenly bodies. The very simplicity of their ap- 
pearance is a^nst them. We see nothing, but 
bright points, luminous circles, or the phases of 
spheres reflecting the light which falls upon them. 
Now we deduce design from relation, aptitude, and 
correspondence of parts. Some degree therefore of 
complexity is necessary to render a subject fit for 
this species of argument. But the heavenly bodies 
do not, except perhaps in the instance of Saturn's 
ring, present themselves to our observation as com- 
pounacd of parts at all. This, which may be a. 
perfection in them, is a disadvantage to us, as in- 
quirers after their rmture. They do not cora^e with- 
in our mechanics. 

And what we ^ay of their forms, is true of their 
motions. Their motions are carried on without any 
sensible immediate apparatus ; whereby we are 
cut off from one principle ground of argumenta- 
tion, analogy. We have notliing wherewith to 
compare them ; no invention, no discovery, no ope- 
ration or resource of art, which, in this respect, 
resembles them. Even those things which are 
made to imitate and represent them, such as orre- 
ries, planetaria, celestial globes, &c. bear no affini- 
ty to them, in the cause and principle by which 
their motions are actuated. I can assign for this 

♦ For the articles in this chapter marked with an aBteiisk, I am 
indebted to some obligJng^ communications received (throug'h the 
hands of the Lord Bishop of Elphin) from the Rey. J. Brinkle^, 
M. A.Andrew's Profesior of Astrooomy in the • Univarsitjr of 
Dublin. 

10 



'3i6 ASTR0N03IY 

difference a reason of utility, i^"?. a reason wn;^. 
Though the action of terrestrial bodies upon eaci; 
other bC; in almost all cases, through the interven- 
tion of solid or fluid substances, j'ct central attrac- 
tion does not operate in this manner. It was ne- 
cessary that the intervals between the planetary 
orbs should be devoid of any iyiert matter either 
fluid or solid, because such an intervening substanc*- 
would, by its resistance, destroy those very mo- 
tions, which attraction is employed to preserve. 
This may be a final cause of the difference ; but stiiJ 
the difterence destroys the analogy. 

Our ignorance, moreover, of the sensitive n?i\.\ires 
by which other planets are inhabited, necessarily 
keeps from us the knowledge of numberless utili- 
ties, relations, and subserviencies, which we per- 
ceive upon our own globe. 

After all ; the real subject of admiration is, that 
we understand so much of astronomy as we do. 
That an animal confined to the surface of one of 
the planets ; bearing a less proportion to it than 
the smallest microscopic insect does to the plant it 
lives upon ; that this little, busy, inquisitive crea- 
ture, by the use of senses which were given to it 
for its domestic necessities, and by means of the as- 
sistants of those senses wliicii it has had the art to 
procure, should have been enabled to observe th-- 
whole system of worlds to which its own belongs , 
the changes of place of the immense globes which 
compose it ; and with such accurary, as to mark 
out beforehand, the situation in the heavens in 
which they will be 'bund at any future point of 
time ; and that thesi bodies, after sailing through 
regions of void and trackless space, should arrive 
at the place where they were expected, not within 
a minute, but within a few seconds of a minute, of 
tlie time prefixed and predicted : ail this is won- 
derful, whether we refer our admiration to the 
constancy of the heavenlj' motions themselves, or to 
the perspicacity and precision with which they 
have been noticed by mankind. Nor is this the 
whole, nor indeed the chief part, of what astrono- 
my teaches. By bringing reason to bear upon ob- 
servation, (the acutest reasoning upon the exactest 
observation,) the astronomer has been able, our of 



ASTRONOMY. 2S7 

the ^* mystic dance," and the confusion (for such 
it is) under which the motions of the heavenly 
bodies present themselves to the ej'e of a mere 
gazer upon the skies, to elicit their order and their 
real paths. 

Our knowledge therefore of astronomy is admi- 
rable, though imperfect : and, amidst the confessed 
desiderata and desideranda, which impede our in- 
vestigation of the wisdom of the Deity in these the 
grandest of his works, there are to be found, in the 
phenomena, ascertained circumstances and laws, 
sufficient to indicate an intellecti^l agency in three 
of its principal operations, viz. in choosing, in de- 
termining, in regulating; in choosing, out of a 
boundless variety of suppositions which were 
equally possible, that which is beneficial ; in deter- 
mining, what, left to itself, had a thousand chances 
against conveniency, for one in its favour : in regu- 
lating subjects, as to quantity and degree, which;, 
by their nature, were unlimited with respect to ei- 
ther. It will be our business to offer, under each 
of these heads, a few instances, such as best admit 
of a popular explication. 

I. Amongst proofs of choice, one is, fixing this 
source of light and heat in the centre of the system. 
The sun is ignijted and luminous ; the planets, 
which move round him, cold and dark. There 
seems to be no antecedent necessity for this order. 
The sun might have been an opaque mass ; some 
one, or two, or more, or any, or all, the planets, 
globes of fire. There is nothing in the nature of 
the heavenly bodies, which requires that those 
which are stationary should be on fire, that those 
which move should be cold : for, in fact, comets are 
bodies on fire, or at least capable of the most in- 
tense heat, yet revolve round a centre : nor does 
this order obtain between the primary planets and 
their secondaries, which are all opaque. When 
we consider, therefore,, that the sun is one ; that 
the planets going i^und it are, at least, seven ; that 
it is indifferent to their nature, which are luminous 
and which are opaque ; and also, in what order, 
with respect to each other, these two kinds of bo- 
dies are disposed ; we may jnJgG of the improbabi'» 



2i>8 ASTRONOMY. 

lity of t}ie present arrangement taking place by 
chance. 

If; by way of accounting for the state in which 
we find the 'solar system^ it be alleged; (and this i8 
one amongst the guesses of those who reject an in- 
telligent Creator,) that the planets themselves are 
only cooled or cooling masses, and were once, like 
the sun, many thousand times hotter than red-hot 
iron; then it follows, that the sun also himself 
must he in his progress towards growing cold ; 
which puts an end to the possibility of his having 
existed, as he iS;^om eternity. This consequence 
arises out cf the hypothesis with still more certainly, 
if we make a part of it, what the philosophers who 
maintain it have usually taught, that the planets 
were originally masses of matter, struck olT in u 
state of fusion, from the body of the sun by the per- 
cussion of a comet, or by a shock from some other 
cause, with which we are not acquainted : for, if 
these masses, partaking of the nature and substance 
of the sun's body, have in process of time lost their 
heat, that body itself, in time likewise, no matter in 
how much longer lime, must lose its heat also, and 
therefore be incapable of an eternal duration in the 
state in whicli we see it, either for the time to come, 
or the time past. 

The preference of the present to any other mode 
of distributing luminous and opaque bodies, I take 
to be evident. It requires more astronomy than I 
am able to lay before the reader, to show, in its 
particulars, what would be the etlect to the system, - 
of a dark body at the centre, and of one of the pla- 
nets being luminous : but I think it manifest, with- 
out either plates or calculation, first, that supposing 
the necessary proportion of magnitude between the 
central and the revolving bodies to be preserved, 
the ignited planet would not be sufficient to illumi- 
nate and warm the rest of the system ; secondly, 
that its light and heat would be imparted to the 
Other planets much more irregiHarly than light and 
heat are now received from tlie sun. 

{*) II. Another thing, in which a choice appears 
to be exercised, and in which, amongst the possibi- 
lities out of which the choice was to be made, the 
number of ihcr?^ which were wrong bore an infinite 



ASTRONOxMY. 229 

proportion to thenumberofthose v/Iiich were ri^ht? 
IS in what geometricians call the axis of rotation^ 
This matter I will endeavour to explain. The 
earth, it is well known, is not an exact globe, but 
an oblate spheroid, something like an orange. Now 
the axes of rotation, or the diameters upon which 
such a body may be made to turn round, are a? 
many as can be drawn through its centre to oppo- 
site points upon its whole surface : but of these 
axes none are permanent Q:iCQ\)X either its shortest 
diameter, i. e. that which passes through the heart 
of the orange from the place where the stalk is in- 
serted into it, and which is but one ; or its longest 
diameters, at right angles with the former, which 
must all terminate in tlie single circumference 
which goes round the thickest part of the orange. 
The shortest diameter is that upon which in fact 
the earth turns, and it is, as the reader sees, what 
it ought to be, a permanent axis ; whereas had 
blind chance had a casual impulse, had a stroke or 
push at random, set the earth a-spinning, the odds 
were infinite, but that they had sent it round upon 
a wrong axis. And what would have been the 
consequence ? The diflerence between a perma- 
nent axis and another axis is this : When a sphe- 
roid in a state of rotatory motion gets upon a per- 
manent axis, it keeps there ; it remains steady and 
faithful to its position ; its poles preserve their di- 
rection with respect to the plane and to the centre 
of its orbit : but, whilst it turns upon an axis which 
is not permanent, (and the number of those we have 
seen infinitely exceeds the number of the other,) it 
is always liable to shift and vacillate from one axis 
to another, with a corresponding change in the in- 
clination of its poles. Therefore, if a planet once 
.set off revolving upon any other than its shortest, 
or one of its longest axes, the poles on its surface 
would keep perpetually changing, and it never 
would attain a permanent axis of rotation. The 
effect of this unnxedness and instability would be, 
that the equatorial parts of the earth might become 
the polar, or the polar the equatorial ; to the utter 
destruction of plants and animals, which are not 
capable of interchanging their situations, but arc 
respectively adapted to their own. As to ourselves 



:iO ASTRONOn 

instead of rejoicing in our temper^^r.e zone, £bci an- 
riually preparing for the mooerate ^ietsntode, or 
ratlier the a;rre^ble EuccesBion of seasons, wnkh 
we experience and expect, we might come to be 
looked up in the ice and darkness oftbe aretic cir- 
cle, with L ■ ' '.er inured to its rigours, nor 
provided v or defence agamst them. — 
Nor would ,. ... ^.^:^n. better, if the trepidauon of 
our pole, takin? an oppc^e coarse, should place 
'35 under the beats of a rertieal son. But if it 
would fare no ill with tlie human inhabitant, who 
can Ihe under greater varieties oflatatade than any 
mlii^r aiiimal ; £till loore noxicms would this trans> 
lation of climate have proved to life in the re«t of 
the creation ; and, most {>erhaps of all, in plants. 
The habit^ile eartli, and its beautiful rmiety. 
mi^ht have been destroyed, by a nmple mischanee 
m the axL? '♦-"—'-. 

i^^t III. vever. proceeds upon a sup- 

position oi avinjj been formed at first an 

obiate HpLeroid. There is another supposition; 
a:;d perhaps our limited information will not enable 
us to decide between them. The second supposi- 
tion is, that the earth, being a miiied mass some- 
what fluid, took, as it might do, it.= present form, by 
the joint action of the mutual gravitation of its parts 
and its rotatory motion. Thb, as we have said, is 
a point in txie :.' '.e earth, which our ob- 

servation-s are . : to determine. For a 

very small dept:. -- surface, (hrr^'-TT-.-of-iy 

small, less, perhaps, tnan an eight-th n, 

compared with tue depth of the ce: id 

vestiges of ancient fliiidiiy. But thl- f. ... .ust 
have gone down many hundred time.s :,".-.: .^lan 
we can penetrate, to enable the earti. lo lajie its 
present oblate form : and whether any traces of 
this kind exist to that depth, we are ignorant. Cal- 
ciilations were made a few years ago, of the mean 
density of the earth, by comparing the force of its 
attraction with the force of attraction of a rock ol 
frranite, the bulk of which could be ascertained : 
and the upshot of the calculation was, that the 
earth upon an average, through its whole sphere, 
i-ias twice the density of granite, or about five times 
rh&t of water. Therefore it cannot be a b<^w 



ASTRONOMY. 23 J 

shei], as some have formerly supposed ; nor can 
its internal parU Ijo occupied by central fire; or by 
water. The riolid parts miiHt greatly exceed the 
fluid pan? : and the probability is, that it is a solid 
Uiiis-i throughout, composed of .subsfmces more pon- 
derous the deeper we go. Nevertheless, we may 
conceive the present face of the earth to have ori- 
ginaied from the revolution of a sphere, covered by 
a feurface of a compound mixture ; the fluid and 
solid parts separating, as the surface becomes qui- 
Ciijcent. Here then comes in the moderoling hand 
of the Creator. If the water had exceeded its pre- 
sent proportion, even but by a trifling quantity com- 
pared with the whole globe, all tne land would 
have been covered : had there been much less than 
there is, there would not have been enough to fer- 
tilize tlie continent. Had the exsiccation been pro 
gressive, such as v.e may suppose to have beer 
produced by an evaporating heat, how came it to 
«top at the. point at v/hich we see it ? \\'hy did it 
not stop sooner ? why at all ? The mandate o! tht 
Deity will account for this ; nothing else will. 

IV'. Of ci.NTRipj.TAL FORCES." By virtue of 

■le simplest law that can be imagined, viz. that h 

jdy coTiihtu^s in the Etate in whick it is, whether 

.rmotionor rest; and, if in motion, goes on in the 

ne in wiiich it wa.s proceeding, and with the same 

locity, unloss tliere be some cause for change : by 

itue, I cay, of this law, it comes to pass (what 

.ay appear to be a strani^e consequence,) that 

' -xXYnii, \n which attraction, incessantly draw- 

/nly towards a centre, never brings, nor ever 

.rinj2:, the body to that centre, hnlkfifiip it in 

rernal circulation round it. If it were possible to 

re off a cannon l>all with a velocity of five miles in 

^ud, and the resistance of the air could be 

^way, the cannon-ball would for ever wheei 

l: the earth, in.-tead oi falling down upon it. 

i III* i'A the principle which su.stains the heavenly 

motions. Th" LV'ity. having aj)pointed this law to 

- ' wc have said before, no law 

has turned it to a wonderful 



y. .- ... n!'"'''»''Ty sy.stems. 

Tile actij- -yctems, is an nt 

.action w/. .\y as the square (.. 



232 ASTRONOMY. 

the distance ; that is, at double the distance, has a 
quarter of the force ; at half the distance, lour 
limes the strength ; and so on. Now. concerning 
this law of variation;, we have three things to ob- 
serve : First ; that attraction, for any thing we 
know about it, was iiist as capable of one law of va- 
riation, as of another : Secondly ; that, out of an 
infinite number of possible laws, those which were 
admissible for the purpose of supporting the heaven- 
ly motions, lay within certain narrow limits : Third- 
ly ; that of the admissible laws, or those which come 
within the limits prescribed, the law that actually 
prevails is the most beneficial. So far as these pro- 
positions can be made out, we may be said, I think, 
To prove choice and regulation : choice, out of bound- 
less %ariety ; and regulation, of that which, by its * 
own nature, was, in respect of the property regu- ! 
lated, indilTerent and indefinite. 

I. First then, attraction, for any thing we know 
about it, was originally indifferent to .all laws of 
variation depending upon change of distance, ?. e. 
iust as susceptible of one law as of another. It might 
Ijavc been the same at ail distances ; it might have 
increased as the distance increased: or it might 
riave diminished with the increase of the distance, 
yet in ten thousand ditierent proportions from the 
present ; it might have followed no stated law at 
all. If attraction be what Cotes, vvith many other 
Newtonians, thought it to be, a primordial proper- 
ty of matter, not dependant uj)on, or traceable to, 
any other material cause ; then, by the very nature 
and definition of a primordial property, it stood in- 
difierent to all laws. If it be the agency of some- 
thing immaterial ; then also, for any thing we know 
of it, it w^as indifierent to all laws. If the revolu- 
tion of bodies round a centre depend upon vortices, 
neither are these limited to one law more than an- 
other. 

There is, I know, an account given of attraction, 
wiiich should seem, in its very cause, to assign to 
it the law wjiich we find it to observe ; and which, 
therefore, makes that lav/, a law, not of choice, but 
of necessity : and it is the account, which ascribes 
attraction to an emanation from the attracting body. 
It is probable, that the influence of such an einana- 



ASTRONOMY. 238 

tion Will be proportioned to the spissitnr^e of the 
rays of which it is composed ; which spissitude, 
supposing the rays to issue in riglit lines on all 
sides from a point, will be reciprocally as the 
square of the distance. The mathematics of this 
solution we do not call in question : the question 
with us is, whether there be any sufficient reason 
for believing that attraction is produced by an ema» 
nation. For my part, I am totally at a loss to com- 
prehend how particles streaming from a centre 
should draw a body towards it. The impulse, if im- 
pulse it be, is all the other way. Nor snail we find 
less difficulty in conceiving a conflux of particles, 
incessantly flowing to a centre, and carrymg down 
all bodies along with it, tliat centre also itself being 
in a state of rapid motion through absolute space ; 
for, by whac source is the stream fed, or what be- 
comes of the accumulation ? Add to which, that it 
seems to imply a contrariety of properties, to sup- 
pose an ethereal fluid to arf, but not to resist ; pow- 
erful enough to carry down bodies with great force 
towards a centre, yet, inconsistently with the na- 
ture of inert matter, powerless and perfectly yield- 
ing with I'espect to the motions which result from 
the projectile impulse. By calculations drawn 
from ancient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can 
prove that, if such a fluid exist at all, its resistance 
nas had no sensible eftect upon the moon's motion 
for two thousand Ave hundred years. The truth is, 
that, except this one circumstance of the variation 
of the attracting force at different distances agree- 
ing with the variation of the spissitude, there is no 
reason whatever to support the hypothesis of an 
emanation ; and, as it seems to me, almost insupera- 
ble reasons against it. 

(*) II. Our second proposition is, that, whilst the 
possible laws of variation were infinite, the admis- 
sible laws, or the laws compatible ^^ itli tlie preserva- 
tion of the system, lie within narrow limits. If the 
attracting force had varied according to any direct 
law of the distance, let it have been what it would, 
great destruction and confusion would have taken 
place. The direct simple proportion of the distance 
would, it is true, have produced an ellipse : but the 
perturbing forces would have acted with so much 



^34 ASTRONOMY. 

ad\'antage, as to be continually changing the di- 
mensions of the ellipse, in a manner inconsistent 
with our terrestrial creation. For instance ; if the 
planet Saturn, so larg:e and so remote, had attract- 
ed the Earth, both in proportion to the quantity of 
matter contained in it, which it does ; and also in 
any proportion to its distance, i. e. if it had pulled 
the harder for being the farther oft', (instead of the 
reverse of it,) it would have dragged out of its 
course the globe which we inhabit, and have per- 
plexed its motions, to a degree incompatible with 
our security, our enjoyments, and probably our ex- 
istence. Of the inverse laws, if the centripetal 
force had changed as the cube of the distance, or in 
any higher proportion, that is, (for I speak to the 
unlearned,) if, at double the distance, the attractive 
force had been diminished to an eighth part, or to 
less than that, the consequence would have been, 
that the planets, if they once began to approacii 
the sun, would have fallen into his body ; if they 
once, though by ever so little, increased their dis- 
tance from the centre, would for ever have receded 
from it. The laws therefore of attraction, by which 
a system of revolving bodies could be upholden in 
their motions, lie within narrow limits, compared 
with the possible laws. I much underrate the re- 
striction, when I say that, in a scale of a mile, they, 
are confined to an inch. All direct ratios of the 
distance are excluded, on account of danger from, 
perturbing forces : all reciprocal ratios, except what 
lie beneath the cube of the distance, by the de- 
monstrable consequence, that every the least 
change of distance would, under the operation of 
such laws, have been fatal to the repose and order 
of the system. We do not know, that is, we sel- 
dom reflect, how interested we are in this matter. 
Small irregularities may be endured ; but, changes 
within these limits being allowed for, the perma- 
nency of our ellipse is a question of life and death 
to our whole sensitive world. 

(*) III. That the subsisting law of attraction 
falls within the limits which utility requires, when 
these limits bear so small a proportion to the ran^ije 
of possibilities upon which chance might equally 
hftve cast it, is not, with any appearance of reasoti, 



ASTRONOMY, 235 

to be accounted for by any other cause than a re- 
gulation proceeding from a designing mind. But 
our next proposition carries the matter somewhat 
farther. We say, in the third place, that, out of 
the different laws which lie within the limits of ad- 
missible laws, the best is made choice of; that there 
are advantages in this particular law which cannot 
be demonstrated to belong to any other law ; and^ 
concerning some of which, it can be demonstrated 
that they do not belong to any other. 
! ('^) 1. Whilst this law prevails between each par- 
tide of matter, the united attraction of a sphere, 
composed of that matter, "observes the same law. 
This property of the law is necessary, to render it, 
applicable to a system composed of spheres, but it 
is a property which belongs to no other law of at- 
traction that is admissible. The law of variation 
of the united attraction is in no other case the same 
as the law of attraction of each particle, one case 
excepted^ and that is of the attraction varying di- 
rectly as the distance ; the inconveniency of which 
law, in other respects, we have already noticed. 

We may follow this regulation somewhat farther, 
and still more strikingly perceive that it proceeded 
from a designing mind. A law both admissible and 
convenient was requisite. In what way is the law of 
the attracting globes obtained ? Astronomical obser- 
vations and terrestrial experiments show that the 
attraction of the globes of the system is made up of 
the attraction of their parts ; the attraction of each 
globe being compounded of the attractions of its 
parts. Now the admissible and convenient law 
which exists, could not be obtained in a system of 
bodies gravitating by the united gravitation of their 
parts, unless each particle of matter were attracted 
by a force varying by one particular law, viz. vary- 
ing inversely as the square of the distance : for, if 
the action of the particles be according to any 
other law whatever, the admissible and convenient 
laW; which is adopted, could not be obtained. Here 
then are clearly shown regulation and design. A 
law both admissible and convenient was to be ob- 
tained : the mode chosen for obtaining that law was 
by making each particle of matter act. After this 
choice was made, then farther attention was to be 
given to each particle of matter; and one, and one 



236 ASTRONOMY. 

only, particular law of action to be assigned to i; 
No other law would have answered the purpose in- 
tended. 

(*) 2. All systems must be liable to 'perturbations. 
And, therefore, to guard against these perturba- 
tions, or rather to guard against their running to 
destructive lengths, is perhaps the strongest evi- 
dence of care and foresight that can be given. Now, 
we are able to demonstrate of our law of attraction, 
what can be demonstrated of no other, and what 
qualifies the dangers which arise from cross but 
imavoidable influences ; that the action of the parts 
of our system upon one another will not cause per- 
manently increasing irregularities, but merely pe- 
riodical or vibratory ones ; that is, they will come 
to a limit, and then go back again. This we can 
demonstrate only of a system, in which the follow- 
ing properties concur, viz. that the force shall be 
inversely as the square of the distance ; the masses 
of the revolving bodies small, compared with that 
of the body at the centre ; the orbits not much in- 
clined to one another ; and their eccentricity little. 
In such a system, the ".rand points are secure. 
The mean distances and periodic times, upon which 
depend our temperature, and the regularity of our 
year, are constant. The eccentricities, it is true, 
will still vary ; but so slowly, and to so small an 
extent, as to produce no inconveniency from fluc- 
tuation of temperature and season. The same as 
to the obliquity of the planes of the orbits. For in- 
stance, the inclination of the ecliptic to the equator 
will never change above two degrees, (out of nine- 
ty,) and that will require many thousand years in 
performing. 

It has been rightly also remarked, that, if the 
^reat planets, Jupiter and Saturn, had moved in 
lower spheres, their influences would have had 
much more etTect as to disturbing the planetary 
motions, than they now have. While they revolve 
at so great distances from the rest, they act almost 
equally on the sun and on the inferior planets ; 
which has nearly the same consequence as not act- 
ing at all upon either. 

If it be said, that the planets might have been 
sent round the sun in exact circles, in which case, no 
change of distance from the centre taking place, thx' 



ASTRONOMY. 237 

lawof variation of the attracting power would have 
never come in Question, one law would have served 
as well as another ; an answer to the scheme may 
be drawn from the consideration of these same per- 
turbing forces. The system retaining in other re- 
spects its present constitution, though the planets 
had been at first sent round in exact circular or- 
bits, they could not have kept them : and if the law 
of attraction had not been what it is, or, at least, if 
the prevailing law had transgressed the limits 
above assigned, every evagation would have been 
fatal : the planet once drawn, as drawn it necessa- 
rily must have been, out of its course, would have 
wandered in endless error. 

(*) V. What we have seen in the law of the cen- 
tripetal force, viz. a choice guided by views of 
utility, and a choice of one law out of thousands 
which might equally have taken place, we see no 
less in the figures of the planetary orbits. It was 
not enough to fix the law of the centripetal force, 
though by the wisest choice ; for, even under that 
law, it was still competent to the planets to have 
moved in paths possessing so great a degree of ec- 
centricity, as, in the course of every revolution, to 
be brought very near to the sun, and carried away 
to immense distances from him. The comets ac- 
tually move in orbits of this sort : and, had the 
planets done so, instead of going round in orbits 
nearly circular, the change from one extremity of 
temperature to another must, in ours at least, have 
destroyed every animal and plant upon its surface. 
Now, the distance from the centre at which a planet 
sets off, and the absolute force of attraction at that 
distance, being fixed, the figure of its orbit, its 
being a circle, or nearer to, or farther off from a 
circle, viz. a rounder or a longer oval, depends 
upon two things, the velocity with, and the direc- 
tion in which, the planet is projected. And these, 
in order to produce a right result, must be both 
brought within certain "narrow limits. One, and 
only one, velocity, united with one, and only one, 
direction, will proauce a perfect circle. And the 
velocity must be near to this velocity, and the di- 
rection also near to this direction, to produce or- 
bits, such as the planetary orbits are, nearly cir 
ciiJur ; that is. dlipsu9 with sinuU evcentricirie;?' 



'i38 ASTRONOiMY. 

The velocity and the direction must both be rigiif * 
If the velocity be wrong, no direction will cure the 
error ; if the direction bo in any considerable de- 
gree oblique, no velocity will produce the orbit re- 
quired. Take for example the attraction of gravity 
at the surface of the earth. The force of that at- 
traction being what it is, out of all the decrees of 
velocity, swift and slow, with which a ball might 
be shot off, none would answer the purpose of which 
we are speaking, but what was nearly that of five 
miles in a second. If it were less than that, the body 
would not get round at all, but would come to tlie 
ground ; if it were in any considerable degree more 
than that, the body would take one of those eccen- 
tric courses, these long ellipses, of which we have 
noticed the inconveniency. If the velocity reach- 
ed the rate of seven miles in a second, or went be- 
yond that, the ball would fly off from the earth, and 
never be heard of more. In like manner with re- 
spect to the direction ; out of the innumerable an- 
gles in which the ball might be sent off, (I mean 
angles formed with a line drawn to the centre,) none 
would serve but what was nearly a right one : out 
of the various directions in which the cannon might 
be pointed, upwards and downwards, every one 
would fail, but what was exactly or nearly horizon- 
tal. The same thing holds true of the planets ; of 
our own amongst the rest. We are entitled there- 
fore to ask, and to ur^e the question. Why did the 
projectile velocity and projectile direction of the 
earth happen to be nearly 'those which would re- 
tain it in a circular form ? Why not one of the in- 
fmite number of velocities, one of the infinite num- 
ber of directions, which would have made it ap- 
proach much nearer to, or recede much farther 
from, the sun ? 

The planets goin^ round, all in the same direc- 
tion, and all nearly in the same plane, afforded to 
Buffon a ground for asserting, that they had all 
been shivered from the sun by the same stroke of a 
comet, and by that stroke projected into their pre- 
sent orbits. 'Now, beside that this is to attribute 
to chance the fortunate concurrence of velocity and 
direction which we have been here noticing, the 
hypothesis, as I apprehend, is inconsistent with 



ASTRONOMY, ^39 

the physical laws by which the heavenly motions 
are governed. If the planets were struck off from 
the surface of the sun, they would return to the 
surface of the sun again. Nor will this difficulty 
be got rid of, by supposing that the same violent 
blow which shattered the sun's surface, and sepa- 
rated large fragments from it, pushed the sun him- 
self out of his place ; for, the consequence of this 
would be, that the sun and system of shattered 
fragments would have a progressive motion, which , 
indeed, may possibly be the case with our system ; 
but then each fragment would, in every revolution, 
return to the surface of the sun again. The hypo- 
thesis is also contradicted by the vast difference 
■which subsists between the diameters of the plane- 
tary orbits. The distance of Saturn from the sun 
(to say nothing of the Georgium Sidus) is nearly 
live-and-twenty times that of Mercury ; a dispari- 
ty, which it seems impossible to reconcile with 
Buffon's scheme. Bodies starting from the same 
place, with whatever difference of direction or ve- 
locity they set off, could not have been found at 
these different distances from the centre, still re- 
taining their nearly circular orbits. They must 
have been carried to their proper distances, before 
they were projected.^ 

To conclude ; in astronomy^ the great thing is 
to raise the imagination to the subject, and that 
oftentimes in opposition to the impression made 
upon the senses. An illusion for example, must be 
gotten over, arising from the distance at which 
we view the heavenly bodies, viz. the apparent 

■* It we suppose the matter of the system to be accumulated in the 
centre by its gravity, no mechanical principles, with the assistance of 
this power of gravity, could separate the vast mass into such parte as 
the sun and planets; and, after carrying: them to their different dis- 
tances, project them in their several directions, preserving- still the 
quality of action and reaction, or the state of the centre of gravity of 
the system. Such an exquisite structure of things could only arise 
from the contrivance and powerful influences of an intelligent, free, 
and most potent agent. The same powers, therefore, which, at pre- 
sent, govern the material universe, and conduct its various motions^ 
are very different from those which were necessary to have produced 
it from nothing, or to have disposed it in the admirable form io 
which it now proce^js,'**— -MacUkurin's Account of Newton's Pbjl. 
j^ 407. ed. 3. 



240 ASTRONOxMY. 

slmcness of their motions. The moon sh.ali take 
some hours in gettinjj half a yard from a star whicli 
it touched. A motion so deliberate, we may think 
easily guided. But what is the fact ? The moon, 
in fact, is, all this while, driving through the heavens 
at the rate of considerably more than two thousand 
miles in an hour; which is more than double of 
that with which a ball is shot off from the mouth of 
a cannon. Yet is this prodigious rapidity as much 
under government, as if the planet proceeded ever 
so slowly, or were conductea in its course inch by 
inch. It is also difficult to bring the imagination to 
conceive (what yet, to judge tolerably of the mat- 
ter, it is necessary to conceive) how loose, if we 
may so express it, the heavenly bodies are. Enor- 
mous globes, held by nothing, confined by notliing, 
are turned into free and boundless space, each t^ 
seek its course by the virtue of an invisible princi- 
ple, but a principle, one, common, and the same in 
all ; and ascertainable. I'o preserve such bodies 
from being lost, from runningtogether in heaps, from 
hindering and distracting one another's motions in a 
degree inconsistent with any continuing order ; i. c. 
to cause them to form planetary systems, systems 
that, when formed, can he upheld, and most especi- 
ally, systems accomodated to the organized and sen- 
sitive natures which the planets sustain, as we know 
to be the case, where alone we can know what the 
case is, upon our earth : all this requires an intel- 
ligent interposition, because it can be demonstrated 
concerning it, that it requires An adjustment of 
force, distance, direction, and velocity, out of the 
reach of chance to have produced ; an adjustment, 
in its view to utility, similar to that which we see 
in ten thousand subjects of nature which are near- 
er to us, but in power, and in the extent of space 
through which tnat power is exerted, stupendous. 
But many of the heavenly bodies, as the sun and 
fixed stars, are stationury. Their rest must be the 
effect of an absence or of an equilibrium of attrac- 
tions. It proves also that a projectile impulse was 
originally given to some oi the heavenly bodies, 
and not to others. But farther ; if attraction act 
at all distances, there can only be one quiescent 
centre oi' gravity in the Universe : and all bodie? 



PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 241 

whatever must be approaching this centre, or re- 
volving round it. According to the first of these 
suppositions, if the duration of the world had been 
long enough to allow of it, all its parts, all the 
great bodies of which it is composed, must have 
been gathered together in a heap round this point. 
No changes however which have been observed^ 
aiford us the smallest reason for believing, that 
either the one supposition or the other is true : and 
then it will follow, that attraction itself is con- 
trolled or suspended by a superior agent ; that there 
is a power above the highest of the powers of ma- 
terial nature ; a will which restrains and circum- 
scribes the operations of the most extensive.* 



CHAP. XXIII. 

Of the personality of the Deity, 

Contrivance, if established, appears to me fc 
prove every thing which we wish to prove. Amongst 
other things, it proves the personality df the Deity^ 
as distinguished from what is sometimes called na- 
ture, sometimes called a principle : which terms, 
in the mouths of those who use them philosophical- 
ly, seem to be intended, to admit and to express an 
efficacy, but to exclude and to deny a personal 
agent. Now that which can contrive, which can 
design, must be a person. These capacities con- 
stitute personality, for they imply consciousness 
and thought. They require that which can per- 
ceive an end or purpose ; as well as the power of 

* It must here however be stated, that many astronomerB deny 
that any of the heavenly bodies jure absolutely stationary. Some of 
the brightest of the fixed stars have certainly small motions ; itnd cf 
the rest the distance is too great, and the intervals of our observa- 
tion too short, to enable us to pronounce with certainty that they 
may not have the same. The motions in the fixed stars which have 
been observed, are considered either as proper to each cf them, or 
as compounded of the motion of our system, and of motions proper 
Coeachistar. By a comparison of these motions, a motion in our 
system is supposed to be discovered. By continuing' this analogy 
to other, and to all systems, it is possible to suppose that attractiva 
fsHQlimited, and that the whole material universe is revolvio|: 
rDuod some fixed point within its containing sphere of space. 

20 



S42 OF THE PERSONALITY 

providing means, and of directing them to then 
nnd.* They require a centre in which percep- 
tions unite, and from which volitions flow ; which 
is mind. The acts of a mind prove the existence 
of a mind: and in whatever a mind resides, is a 
person. The seat of intellect is a person. Wc 
nave no authority to limit the properties of mind 
to any corporeal form, or to any particular circum- 
scription of space. . These properties subsist, in 
created nature, under a great variety of sensible 
forms. Also every animated being has its senso- 
rium ; that is, a certain portion of space, within 
which perception and volition are exerted. This 
sphere may be enlarged to an indefinite extent ; 
may comprehend the universe ; and, being so ima- 
gined, may serve to furnish us with as good a no- 
tion, as we are capable of forming, of the immen- 
sity of the Divine Nature, i. e. of a Being, infinite, 
as well in essence as in power ; yet nevertheless 
a person. 

'^ No man hath seen God at any time." And 
this, I believe, makes the great difficulty. Now it 
is a difficulty which chiefly arises from our not 
duly estimating the state of our faculties. The 
Deity, it is true, is the object of none of our senses ; 
but reflect what limited capacities animal senses 
are. Many animals seem to have but one sense, or 
perhaps two at the most ; touch and taste. Ought 
such an animal to conclude against the existence 
of odours, sounds, and colours? To another spe- 
cies is given the sense of smelling. This is an ad- 
vance in the knowledge of the powers and proper- 
ties of nature : but, if this favoured animal should 
infer from its superiority over the class last de- 
scribed, that it perceived every thing which was 
perceptible in nature, it is known to us, though 
perhaps not suspected by the animal itself, that it 
proceeded upon a false and presumptuous estimate 
of its faculties. To another is added the sense of 
hearing ; which lets in a class of sensations entire- 
ly unconceived by the animal before snoken of ; 
not only distinct, but remote from any which ithad 
over experienced, and greatly superior to them, 

* Priestley's Letters to A Philosophical UnbelieTer, f l??. «J ? 



OF THE DEITY. 24S 

Yet this last animal has no more ground for be- 
lieving, that its senses comprehend all things, and 
all properties of things, which exist, that might 
have been claimed by the tribes of animals beneath 
it ; for we know, that it is still possible to possess 
another sense, that of sight, which shall disclose 
to the percipient a new world. This fifth sense 
makes tlie animal what the human animal is ; but 
to infer, that possibility stops here ; that either 
this fifth sense is the last sense, or that the five 
comprehend all existence ; is just as unwarranta- 
ble a conclusion, as that which might have been 
made by any of the different species which pos- 
sessed fewer, or even by that, if such there be^ 
which possessed only one. The conclusion of the 
one-sense animal, and the conclusion of the five- 
sense animal, stand upon the same authority. 
There may be more and other senses than those 
which we have. There may be senses suited to 
the. perception of the powers, properties, and sub- 
stance, of spirits. These may belong to higher 
orders of rational agents; for there is not the 
smallest reason for supposing that we are the 
highest, or tliat the scale of creation stops with us. 

The great energies of nature are known to us only 
by their effects." The substances which produce 
them, are as much concealed from our sense as the 
divine essence itself. Gravitation, though constant- 
ly present, though constantly exerting its influence, 
though every where around us, near us, and within 
us ; though difiused throughout all s]3ace, and pe- 
netrating the texture of all bodies with which we 
are acquainted, depends, if upon a fluid, upon a 
fluid which, though both powerful and universal in 
its operation, is no object of sense to us : if upon 
any other kind of substance or action, upon a sub- 
stance and action from which we receive no dis- 
tinguishable impressions. Is it then to be wonder- 
ed at, that it should, in some measure, be the same 
with the Divine nature ? 

Of this however we are certain, that whatever 
tlie Deity be, neither the universe, nor any part of 
it which we see, can be He. The universe itself is 
merely a collective name ; its parts are all which 
'ire real; or which are ^/n/?^^. Now inert matter 



244 OF THE PERSONALITY 

Is out of the question : and organized substanc<:^5 
Include marks of contrivance. But whatever in- 
cludes marks of contrivance^ whatever, in its con- 
stitution, testifies design, necessarily carries us to 
soniething beyond itself, to some other being, to a 
designer prior to, and out of, itself. No animal, 
for instance, can have contrived its own limbs and 
senses ; can have been the author to itself of the de- 
sign with which they were constructed. That sup- 
position involves all the absurdity of self-creation, 
2, e. of acting without existing. Nothing can be 
God, which is ordered by a wisdom and a will, 
which itself is void of ; which is indebted for any 
of its properties to contrivance ab extra. The 7iot 
liaving that in his nature which requires the exer- 
tion of another prior being, (which property is 
sometimes called self-sufficiency, and sometimes 
self-comprehension,) appertains to the Deity, as his 
essential distinction, and removes his nature from 
that of all things which we see. Which considera- 
tion contains the answer to a qiiestion that has 
sometimes been asked, namely. Why, since some- 
thing or other must have existed from eternity, 
may not the present universe be that something ? 
The contrivance perceived in it, proves that to be 
impossible. Nothing contrived, can, in a strict and 
proper sense, be eternal, forasmuch as the contriver 
must have existed before the contrivance. 

Wherever we see marks of contrivance, we are 
led for its cause to an intelligent author. And this 
transition of the understanding if founded upon uni- 
form experience. We see intelligence constantly 
I'ontriving ; that is, we see intelligence constantly 
producing effects, marked and distinguished by 
lertain properties ; not certain particular proper- 
ties, but by a kind and class of properties, such as 
relation to an end, relation of parts to one another, 
and to a common purpose. We see, wherever we 
are witnesses to the actual formation of things, no- 
tJiing except intelligence producing effects so mark- 
ed and distinguished. Furnished with this experi- 
ence, we view the productions of nature. We ob- 
serve them also marked and distinguished in the 
?ame manner. We wish to account for their 
':'ngjn. Our experience suggests a cause perfectly 



OF THE DEITY. 245 

adeoiiate to this account. No experience, no 
single instance or example, can be offered in favour 
of any other. In this cause therefore we ought to 
rest ; in this cause the common sense of mankind 
has, in fact, rested, because it agrees with that, 
which, in all cases, is the foundation of knowledge, 
— the undeviating course of their experience. The 
reasoning is the same a« that, by which we con- 
clude any ancient appearances to have been the 
effects of volcanoes or inundations ; namely, because 
they resemble the effects which fire and water pro- 
duce before our eyes ; and because we have never 
known these effects to result from any other opera^ 
tion. And this resemblance may subsist in so 
many circumstances, as not to leave us under the 
smallest doubt in forming our opinion. Men are 
not deceived by this reasoning : for whenever it 
happens, as it sometimes does happen, that the 
truth comes to be known by direct mformation, it 
turn? out to be what was expected. In like man- 
ner, and upon the same 'foundation, (which in truth 
is that of experience,) we conclude that the works 
of nature proceed from intelligence and design ; 
because in the properties of relation ton purpose, 
subserviency to a use, they resemble what intelli- 
gence and design are constantly producing, and 
what nothing except intelligence and design ever 
produce at all. Of every argument, which would 
raise a question as to the safety of this reasoning, 
it may be observed, that if such argument be listen- 
ed to, it leads to the inference, not only that the 
present order of nature is insufficient to prove the 
existence of an intelligent Creator, but that no ima- 
ginable order would be sufficient to prove it ; that 
no contrivance, were it ever so mechanical, ever so 
precise, ever so clear, ever so perfectly like those 
which we ourselves employ, would support this 
conclusion. A doctrine, to which, I conceive^ no 
sound mind can assent. 

The force however of the reasoning is sometimes 
punk by our taking up with mere names. We have 
already noticed,* and we must here notice again, 
the misapplication of the term " law," and the mis- 

* Ch. I. yect. Tii 



216 OF THE PERSONALITY 

take concerning the idea whicli that term expresses 
in physics, whenever^ such idea is made to take the 
place of power, and still more of an intelligent 
power, and, as such, to be assigned for the cause 
of any thing, or of any property of any thing, that 
(^.xists. This is what we are secretly apt to do, 
when we speak of organized bodies, (plants for in- 
stance, or animals,) owing their production, their 
form, their growth, their qualities, their beauty, 
their use, to any law or laws of nature; and when 
we are contented to sit down with that answer to 
our inquiries concerning them. I say once more, 
that it is a perversion of language to assign any 
law, as the efficient, operative cause of any thing. 
A law presupposes an agent, for it is only the mode 
accordmg to which an agent proceeds ; it implies a 
power, for it is the order according to which that 
power acts. Without this agent, without this 
power, which are both distinct from itself, the 
*'■ law" does nothing ; is nothing. 

What has been said concerning " law%'' holds 
true o{ mechanmn. Mechanism is not itself power. 
Mechanism, without power, can do nothing. Let 
a watch be contrived and constructed ever so in- 
geniously ; be its parts ever so many, ever so com- 
plicated, ever so finely wrought or aitificially put 
together, it cannot §ro without a weight or spring, 
i. e. without a force independent of, and ulterior to, 
its mechanism. The spring acting at the centre, 
will produce different motions and different results, 
according to the variety of the intermediate mecha- 
nism. One and the self-same spring, acting in one 
and the same manner, viz. by simply expanding 
itself, may be the cause of a hundred different antl 
all useful movements, if a hundred different and 
well-devised sefs of wheels be placed between it 
rind the final effect ; e. g. may point out the hour of 
the day, the day of the month, the age of the moon, 
rhe position of the planets, the cycle of the years, 
and many other serviceable notices ; and these 
movements may fulfil their purposes with more or 
less perfection, according as the mechanism is bet- 
ter or worse contrived, or better or worse executed, 
or in a better or worse state of repair : but in all 
cases, it is necessanj that the sjrring act at the centre. 



OF THE DEITY. 217 

The course of our reasoning upon such a subject 
would be tliis : By inspecting the watch; even when 
standing still, we get a proof of contrivance, and of 
a contriving mind, having been employed about it. 
In the form and obvious relation of its parts, we 
see enough to convince us of this. If we pull the 
works in pieces, for the purpose of a closer exami- 
nation, we are still more fully convinced. But, 
when we see the w atch going, we see proof of an- 
other point viz. that there is a power somewhere, 
and somehow or other, applied to it ; a power in 
action ; — that there is more in the subject than 
the mere wheels of the machine ; — that there is a 
secret spring, or a gravitating plummet ; — in a 
word, that there is force, and energy, as well as 
mechanism. 

So then, the watch in motion establishes to the 
observer two conclusions ; One ; that thought, con- 
trivance, and design, have been employed in the 
forming, proportioning, and arranging, of its parts , 
and that whoever or whatever he be, or were, such 
a contriver there is, or was : The other ; that force 
or power, distinct from mechanism, is, at this pre- 
sent time, acting upon it. If I saw a hand-mill 
even at rest, I should see contrivance : but if I saw 
it grinding, I should be assured that a hand was 
at the windlass, though in another room. It is the 
same in nature. In the works of nature we trace 
mechanism ; and this alone proves contrivance : 
but living, active, moving, productive nature, 
proves also the exertion of a power at the centre ; 
for, wherever the power resides may be denomi* 
nated tlie centre. 

The intervention and disposition of what are 
called '' second causes,'^ fall under the same obser- 
vation. This disposition is or is not mechanism, 
according as we can or cannot trace it by our 
senses and means of examination. That is all the 
difference there is ; and it is a difference which 
respects our faculties, not the things themselves. 
Now where the order of second causes is mecha- 
nical, what is here said of mechanism strictly ap- 
plies to it. But it would be always mechanism, 
(natural chymistry, for instance, would be mecha- 
jajsm;) if our senses wore acute enough to descry 



248 OF THE PERSONALITY 

it. Neither mechanism, therefore, in the works 
of nature, nor the intervention of what are called 
second causes, (for I think that they are the same 
thing,) excuses the necessity of an agent distinct 
from both. 

If, in tracing these causes, it be said, that we 
find certain general properties of matter which 
have nothing in them that bespeaks inteUigence, I 
answer, that, still, the managing of these proper- 
ties, the pointing and directing them to the uses 
which we see made of them, demands intelligence 
in the highest degree. For example : suppose ani- 
mal secretions to be elective attractions, and that 
such and such attractions universally belong to such 
and such substances ; in all which there is no in- 
tellect concerned ; still the choice and collocation 
of these substances, the fixing upon right substan- 
ces, and disposing them in right places, must be an 
act of intelligence. What mischief would follow, 
were there a single transposition of the secretory 
organs ; a single mistake in arranging the glands 
which compose them ! 

There may be many second causes, and many 
courses of second causes, one behind another, be- 
tween what we observe of nature, and the Deity ; 
but there must be intelligence somewhere ; there 
mnst be more in nature than what we see ; and, 
amongst the things unseen, there must be an in* 
telligent, designing author. The philosopher be- 
holds with astonisnment the production of things 
around him. Unconscious particles of matter take 
their stations, and severally range themselves in 
an order, so as to become collectively plants or ani- 
mals, i. €. organized bodies, with parts bearing 
strict and evident relation to one another, and to 
the utility of the whole : and it should seem that 
these particles could not move in any other way 
than as they do ; for they testify not the smallest 
sign of choice, or liberty, or discretion. There 
may be particular intelligent beings, guiding these 
motions in each case : or they may be the result 
of trains of mechanical dispositions, fixed before- 
hand by an intelligent appointment, and kept in ac- 
tion by a power at the centre. But, in either case, 
there 'must be intelligence. 



OF THE DEITY. 240 

The minds of most men are fond of what they 
call a -principle, and of the appearance of simplicity, 
in accounting for phenomena. Yet this princljDle, 
this simplicity, resides merely in the naine ; wViich 
name, after all, comprises, perhaps, under it a di- 
versified, multifarious, or progressive operation, 
distinguishable into parts. The power in organized 
bodies, of producing bodies like themselves, is one 
of tbsse principles. Give a philosopher this, and 
he can get on.' But he does not reflect, what this 
mode of production, this principle (if such he choose 
to call it) requires; how much it presupposes; 
what an apparatus of instruments, some of which 
are strictly mechanical, is necessary to its success ; 
what a train it includes of operations and changes, 
one succeeding another, one related to another, one 
ministering to another ; all advancing, by interme- 
diate, and, frequently, by sensible steps, to their 
ultimate result ! Yet, because the whole of this 
complicated action is wrapped up in a single term, 
^emration, we are to set it down as an elementary 
principle ; and to suppose, that when we have re- 
solved the things which we see into this principle^ 
we have sufficiently accounted for their origin, 
without the necessity of a designing, intelligent 
Creator. The truth is, generation is not a princi' 
pie, but a process. We might as well call the cast- 
ing of metals a principle ; we mi^ht, so far as ap- 
pears to me, as well call spinning and weaving 
principles : and then, referring the texture of cloths, 
the fabric of muslins and calicoes, the patterns of 
diapers and damasks, to these, as principles, pre- 
tend to dispense with intention, thought, and con< 
trivance, on the part of the artist ; or to dispense, 
indeed, with the necessity of anyar<.ist at all, either 
in the manufacturing of the article, or in the fabrica- 
tion of the machinery by which the manufacture 
was carried on. 

And, after all, how, or in what sense, is it true, 
that animals produce their like ? A butterfly, with 
a .proboscis instead of a mouth, with four wings and 
six legs, produces a hairy caterpillar, with jaws 
and teeth, and fourteen feet. A frog produces a 
tadpole. A black beetle, with gauze wings, and a 
crusty covering, proUucea ^ white, smpoth, soft 



250 OF THE PERSONALITY 

worm ; an ephemeron fly, a cod-bait magg'ot- 
These, by a progress through different stages oi' 
life, and action, and enjoyment, (and, in each state, 
provided with implements and organs appropriated 
to the temporary nature which they bear,) arrive 
at last at the form and fashion of the parent animal. 
But all this is process, not principle ; and proves, 
moreover, that the property of anmiated bodies, of 
producing their like, belongs to them, not as a pri- 
mordial property, not by any blind necessity in the 
nature of things, but as the effect of economy, wis- 
dom, and design ; because the property itself as- 
sumes diversities, and submits to deviations dictated 
by intelligible utilities, and serving distinct pur- 
poses of animal happiness.- 

The opinion, which would consider ^' generation'^ 
as a jyrinci'ple in nature ; and which would assign 
this principle as the cause, or endeavour to satisfy 
our minds with such a cause, of the existence of 
organized bodies ; is confuted, in my judgment, not 
only by every mark of contrivance discoverable in 
those bodies, for which it gives us no contriver, of- 
fers no account whatever : but also by the farther 
consideration, that things generated, possess a 
clear relation to things not generated. If it were 
merely one part of a generated body bearing a rela- 
tion to another part of the same body ; as the mouth 
of an animal to the throat, the throat to the sto- 
mach, the stomach to the intestines, those to the 
recruiting of the blood, and, by means of the blood, 
to the nourishment of the whole frame : or if it were 
only one generated body bearing a relation to an- 
other generated body ; as the sexes of the same 
species to each other, animals of prey to their prey, 
herbivorous and granivorous animals to the plants 
or seeds upon which they feed ; it might be con- 
tended, that the whole of this correspondency was 
attributable to generation, the common origin from 
which these substances proceeded. But what shall 
we say to agreements which exist between things 
j^enerated, a'nd things not generated ? Can it be 
doubted, was it ever doubted, but that the lungs of 
animals bear a relation to the air. as a permanent- 
ly elastic fluid ? They act in it and by it ; they 
•anuotact without it. Now. if generation produccii 



OF THE DEITY, 251 

the animal, it did not produce the air ; yet their 
properties correspond. The eye is made for lightj 
and light for the eye. The eye would be of no use 
without light, and light perhaps of little without 
eyes ; vet one is produced by generation, the other 
not, 'the ear depends upon undulations of air. 
Here are two sets of motions : first, of the pulses of 
the air; secondly, of the drum, bones, and nerves, 
of the ear ; sets of motions bearing an evident re- 
ference to each other : yet the one, and the appa- 
ratus for the one, produced by the intervention of 
generation; the other altogether independent of it. 

If it be said, that the air, the light, the elements, 
the world itself, is generated ; I answer, that I do 
not comprehend the proposition. If the term mean 
any thing similar to what it means when applied to 
plants or animals, the proposition is certainly with- 
out proof; and, I think, draws as near to absurdity 
as any proposition can do, which does not include* 
a contradiction in its terms. I am at a loss to con- 
ceive, how the formation of the world can be com- 
pared to the generation of an animal. If the term 
generation signify something quite different from 
what it signifies on ordinary occasions, it may, by 
the same latitude, signify any thing. In which 
case, a word or phrase taken from the language of 
Otaheite, would convey as much theory concerning 
the origin of the universe, as it does to talk of its 
being generated. 

We know a cause (intelligence) adequate to the 
appearances which we wish to account for : we 
have this cause continually producing similar ap- 
pearances ; yet, rejecting this cause, the sufficiency 
of which we know, and the action of which is con- 
stantly before our eyes, we are invited to resort to 
suppositions, destitute of a single fact for their sup- 
port, and confirmed by no analogy with which we 
are acquainted. Were it necessary to inquire into 
the motives of men's opinions, I mean their motives 
separate from their arguments ; I should almost 
suspect, that, because the proof of a Deity drawn 
from the constitution of nature is not only popular 
but vulgar, (which may arise from the cogency of 
the proof, and be indeed its highest recommenda- 
tion,) and because it is a species almost oi puerility 



25ii OF THE PERSONALITY 

to take up with it ; for these reasons, minds, whicb 
are habitually in search of invention and originali- 
ty, feel a resistless inclination to strike off into other 
solutions and other expositions. The truth is, that 
many minds are not so indisposed to any thing 
which can be offered to them, as they are to the 
^flatness of being content with common reasons : and, 
what is most to be lamented, minds conscious of 
superiority, are the most liable to this repugnancy. 

The " suppositions'' here alluded to, all agree 
in one character : they all endeavour to dispense 
with the necessity in nature, of a particular, per- 
sonal intelligence ; that is to say, with the exer- 
tion of an intending, contriving mind, in the struc- 
ture and formation of the organized constitutions 
which the world contains. They would resolve all 
productions into unconscious energies, of a like 
kind, in that respect, with attraction, magnetism, 
electricity, &c. ; without any thing farther. 

In this, the old system of atheism and the new 
agree. And I much doubt, whether the new 
schemes have advanced any thing upon the old, or 
done more than changed the terms of the nomencla- 
ture. For instance, I could never see the difference 
between the antiquated system of atoms, and Buf- 
fon's organic molecules. This philosopher, having 
made a planet by knocking off from the sun a piece 
of melted glass, in consequence of the stroke of a co- 
met ; and having set it in motion, by the same stroke, 
both round its own axis and the sun ; finds his next 
difficulty to be, how to bring plants and animals 
upon it. In order to solve this difficulty, we are to 
suppose the universe replenished with particles, 
endowed with life, but without organization or 
senses of their own ; and endowed also with a 
t3ndency to marshal themselves into organized 
forms. The concourse of these particles, by virtue 
of this tendency, but without intelligence, will, or 
direction, (for 1 clo not find that any of these quali- 
ties are ascribed to them,) has produced the living 
forms which we now see. 

Very few of the conjectures which philosophers 
hazard upon these subjects, have more of preten- 
sion in them, than the challenging you to show the 
direct impossibility of the hypotjSsig. In the pre^ 



OF THE DEITY. 253 

sent example, there seemed to be a positive objec- 
tion to the whole scheme upon the very face of it ; 
which was that, if the case were as here represent- 
ed, wezi' combinations ought to be perpetually taking 
place ; new plants and animals, or organized bodies 
which were neither, ought to be starting up before 
our eyes every day. For this, however, our philo- 
sopher has an answer. Whilst so many forms of 
plants and animals are already in existence, and;, 
consequently, so many ^' internal moulds," as he 
calls them, are prepared and at hand, the organic 
particles run into tnese moulds, and are employed 
in supplying an accession of substance to them, as 
well for their growth as for their propagation. By 
which means, things keep their ancient course. 
But, says the same philosopher, should any general 
loss ordestructionof the present constitution of or- 
ganized bodies take place, the particles, for want of 
^' moulds'' into which they might enter, would run 
into diflferent combinations, and replenish the waste 
with new species of organized substances. 

Is there any history to countenance this notion ? 
Is it known, that any destruction has been so re- 
paired ; any desert thus repeopled ? 

So far as I remember, the only natural appear- 
ance mentioned bv our author, by way of fact 
whereon to build his hypothesis, is the formation 
of worms in the intestines of animals, which is here 
ascribed to the coalition of superabundant organic 
particles, floating about in the first passages ; and 
which have combined themselves into these simple 
animal forms, for want of internal moulds, or of va- 
cancies in those moulds, into which they might be 
received. The thing referred to, is rather a species 
of facts, than a single fact; as some other cases 
may, with equal reason, be included under it. But 
to make it a fact at all, or, in any sort, applicable to 
the question, we must begin with asserting an 
equivocal generation, contrary to analogy, and with- 
out necessity : contrary to an analogy, which ac- 
companies us to the very limits of our knowledge 
or inquiries ; for wherever, either in plants or ani- 
mals, we are able to examine the subject, we find 
procreation from a parent form : without necessity ; 
for I apprehend that it is seldom difficult to suggest 



254 OF THE PERSONALITY 

methods, by which the eggs, or spawn, or yet invi- 
sible rudiments of these vermin, may have obtained 
a passage into the cavities in which they are found.* 
Add to this, that their constajicy to their s^des, 
which, I believe, is as regular in these as in the 
other vermes, decides the question against our phi- 
losopher, if, in truth, any question remained upon 
the subject. 

Lastly : These wonder-working instruments, 
these '' internal moulds,'' what are they after alli 
what, when examined, but a name without signifi- 
cation ; unintelligible, if not self-contradictory ; at 
the best, differing in nothing from the " essential 
forms" of the Greek philosophy ? One short sen- 
tence of Buffon's work exhibits his scheme as fol- 
lows : '' When this nutricious and prolific matter, 
which is diffused throughout all nature, passes 
through the internal mould of an animal or vegeta- 
ble, and finds a proper matrix, or receptacle, it 
gives rise to an animal or vegetable of the same 
species." Does any reader annex a meaning to 
the expression " internal mould," in this sentence ? 
Ou^ht it then to be said, that, though we have little 
notion of an internal mould, we have not much 
more of a designing mind ? The very contrary of 
this assertion is the truth. When we speak of an 
artificer or an architect, we talk of what is com- 
prehensible to our understanding, and familiar to 
our experience. We use no other terms than what 
refer us for their meaning to our consciousness and 
observation ; what express the constant objects of 
both : whereas names like that we have mentioned, 
refer us to nothing ; excite no idea ; convey a sound 
to the ear, but I think do no more. 

Another system which has lately been brought 
forward, and with much ingenuity, is that of appe- 
tencies. The principle, and the short account of 
the theory, is this : Pieces of soft, ductile matter, 
being endued with propensities or appetencies for 
particular actions, would, by continual endeavours, 

* I trust I may be excused, for not citiij§:, as another fact which 
sa to confirm the hypothesis, a grave assertion of this writer, tliat 
the branches of trees upon which the staf feeds, break out again io 
his bcf{is. Such fr^ts men: ng discussluu. 



OF THE DEITY. 255 

carried on through a long series of generations^ 
work themselves gradually into suitable forms; 
and, at length, acquire, though perhaps by obscure 
and almost imperceptible improvements, an organi- 
zation fitted to the action which their respective 
propensities led them to exert. A piece of animated 
matter, for example, that was endued with a pro- 
pensity to^y, though ever so shapeless, though no 
other we will suppose than a round ball to begin 
with, would, in a course of ages, if not in a million 
of years, perhaps in a hundred millions of years, 
(for our theorists, having eternity to dispose of, are 
never sparing in time,) acquire wings. The same 
tendency to locomotion in an aquatic animal, or 
rather in an animated lump which might happen to 
be surrounded by water, would end in the produc- 
tion oijins ; in a living substance, confined to the 
solid earth, would put out legs send feet ; or, if it 
took a different turn, would break the body into 
ringlets, and conclude by crawling upon the ground. 
Although I have introduced the mention of this 
theory into this place, I am unwilling to give to it 
the name of an atheistic scheme, for two reasons : 
first, because, so far as I am able to understand it, 
the original propensities and the numberless varie- 
ties of them, (so different, in this respect, from the 
laws of mechanical nature, which are few and sim- 
ple,) are, in the plan itself, attributed to the ordina- 
tion and appointment of an intelligent and de- 
signing Creator : secondly, beoeuse, likewise, that 
large postulatum, which is all along assumed 
and presupposed, the faculty in living bodies of 
producing other bodies organized like themselves, 
seems to be referred to the same cause ; at least is 
not attempted to be accounted for by any other. In 
one important respect, however, the theory before 
us coincides with atheistic systems, viz. in that, in 
the formation of plants and animals, in the struc- 
ture and use of their parts, it does away final 
causes. Instead of the parts of a plant or animal, 
or the particular structure of the parts, having 
been intended for the action or the use to which we 
see them applied ; according to this theory, they 
have themselves grown out of that action, sprung 
from that use. The theory therefore dispenses 



£'56 OF THE PERSONALITY 

with that which we insist upon, the necessity, in 
each particular case, of an intelligent, designing 
mind, for the contriving and determining of the 
forms which organized bodies bear. Give our phi- 
losopher these appetencies , give him a portion of 
living irritable matter (a nerve, or the clipping of a 
nerve) to work upon ; give also to his incipient or 
progressive forms, the power, in every stage of 
their alteration, of propagating their like; and, if 
he is to be believed, he could replenish the world 
with all the vegetable and animal productions which 
we at present see in it. 

The scheme under consideration is open to the 
same objection with other conjectures of a similar 
tendency, viz. a total defect of evidence. No changes 
like those which the theory requires, have ever 
been observed. All the changes in Ovid's Meta- 
morphoses might have been effected by these ap- 
petencies, if the theory were true : yet not an ex- 
ample, nor the pretence of an example, is offered of 
a single change beino^ known to have taken place. 
Nor is the order of generation obedient to the prin- 
ciple upon which this theory i.= built. The mam- 
mae* of the male have not vanished by inusitatiou ; 
nee curtorum, per multusoeada, Judceorum propagini 
deest praeputium. It is easy to say, and it has been 
said, that ihe alterative process is too slow to be 
perceived ; that it has been carried on through 
tracts of immeasurable time ; and that the present 
order of things is the result of a gradation, of which 
no human records can trace the steps. It is easy 
to say this : and yet it is still true, that the hypothe- 
sis remains destitute of evidence. 

The analogies which have been alleged, are of the 
following kind : The bimch of a camef, is said to be 
uo other than the effect of carrying burdens ; a ser- 
vice in which the species has been employed from 
the most ancient times of the world. The first 



* I confess myself totally at a loss to g:aepg al tke reason, either 
Goal or efficient, for this part of the animal frame ; unless there b» 
sciiie fftiindation for an opinion, of which I draw the hint fr&na a 
paper of Mr. Everard Home (Phil. Transact. 1799, p. 2.) viz. that 
the mammae of the foetus ma j' te formel, be*"- '•" '^'- -'-^ is deter- 
Tnined; 



OF THE DEITY. 

race, by the daily loading of the back, would pro- 
bably find a small grumous tumour to be formed in 
the flesh of that part. The next progeny would 
bring this tumour into the world with them. The 
life to which they were destined, would increase it. 
The cause which first generated the tubercle being 
continued, it would go on, through every succes- 
sion, to augment its size, till it attained the form 
and the bulk under which it now appears. This 
may serve for one instance : another, and that also 
of the passive sort, is taken from certain species of 
birds. Birds of the crane kind, as the crane itself, 
the heron, bittern, stork, have, in general, their 
thighs bare of feathers. This privation is account- 
ed for from the habit of wading in water, and froni 
the effect of that element to check the growth of 
feathers upon these parts ; in consequence of which, 
the health and vegetation of the feathers declined 
through each generation of the animal ; the tender 
down, exposed to cold and wetness, became weak^ 
and thin, and rare, till the deterioration ended in 
the result which we see, of absolute nakedness. 
I will mention a third instance, because it is drawn 
from an active habit, as the two last were from pas- 
sive habits ; and that is the pouch of the pelican. 
The description which naturalists give of this or- 
gan, is as follows : ^^ From the lower edges of the 
imder chap, hangs a bag, reaching from the whole 
length of the bill to the neck, which is said to be 
capable of containing fifteen quarts of water. This 
bag, the bird has a power of wrinkling uj) into the 
hollow of the under chap. When the bag is empty, 
it is not seen ; but when the bird has fished with 
success, it is incredible to what an extent it is often 
dilated. The first thing the pelican does in fishing, 
is to fill the bag ; and then it returns to digest its 
burden at leisure. The bird preys upon the large 
fishes, and hides them by dozens in its poucn. 
When the bill is opened to its widest extent, a 
person may run his head into the bird's mouth ; 
and conceal it in this monstrous pouch, thus adapt* 
ed for very singular purposes."^ Now this extra- 
ordinary conformation is nothing more, say our 

* GoldsmJtb, vol. vi. p. 52. 



S58 OF THE PERSONALITY 

philosophers, than the result of habit ; not of the 
nab it or effort of a single pelican, or of a single 
race of pelicans, but of a habit perpetuated through 
a long series of generations. The pelican soon 
found the conveniency of reserving in its mouth, 
when its appetite was glutted, the remainder of its 
prey, which is fish. The fulness produced by this 
attempt, of course stretched the skin which lies be- 
tween the under chaps, as being the most yielding 
part of the mouth. Every distension increased the 
cavity. The original bird, and many generations 
which succeeded him, might find difficulty enough 
in making the pouch answer this purpose : but fu- 
ture pelicans, entering upon life with a pouch de- 
rived from their progenitors, of considerable capa- 
city, would more readily accelerate its advance to 
perfection, by frequently pressing down the sac 
with the weight of fish which it might now be made 
to contain. 

These, or of this kind, are the analogies relied 
upon. Now, in the first place, the instances them- 
selves are unauthenticated by testimony ; and, in 
theory, to say the least of them, open to great objec- 
tions. Who ever read of camels without bunches, 
or with bunches less than those with which they 
are at present usually formed? A bunch, not un- 
like the camel's, is found between the shoulders of 
the buffalo ; of the origin of which it is impossible 
to give the account here given. In the second ex- 
ample ; Why should the application of water, 
which appears to promote and thicken the growth 
of feathers upon the bodies and breasts of geese, 
and swans, and other water fowls, have divested of 
this covering the thighs of cranes? The third in- 
stance, which appears to me as plausible as any 
that can be produced, has this against it, that it is 
a singularity restricted to the species ; whereas, if 
it had its commencement in the cause and manner 
which have been assigned, the like conformation 
might be expected to take place in other birds, 
which fed upon fish. How comes it to pass, that the 
pelican alone was the inventress, and her descend- 
ants the onlv inheritors, of this curious resource ? 

But it is the less necessary to controvert the in- 
stances themselves; as it is a straining of analogy 



OF THE DEITY. 259 

beyond all limits of reason and credibility, to assert 
that birds, and beasts, and fish, with all their variety 
and complexity of organization, have been brought 
into their forms, and distinguished into their seve- 
ral kinds and natures, by tne same process (even 
if that process could be demonstrated, or had it 
ever been actually noticed) as might seem to serve 
for the gradual generation of a camel's bunch, or a 
pelican's pouch. 

The solution, when applied to the works of na* 
ture generally, is contradicted by many of the 
phenomena, and totally inadequate to others. The 
ligaments, or strictures, by which the tendons are 
tied down at the angles of the joints, could, by no 
possibility, be formed by the motion or exercise of 
the tendons themselves : by any appetency exciting 
these parts into action ; or by any tendency arising 
therefrom. The tendenc;y is all the other way ; the 
conatus in constant opposition to them. Length of 
time does not help the case at all, but the reverse. 
The valves also in the blood-vessels, could never be 
formed in the manner which our theorist proposes . 
The blood, in its right and natural course, has no 
tendency to form them. When obstructed or re- 
fluent, it has the contrary. These parts could not 
grow out of their use, though they had eternity to 
grow in. 

The senses of animals appear to me altogether in- 
capable of receiving the explanation of their origin 
which this theory affords. Including under the 
word '^ sense'' the organ and the perception, we 
have no account of either. How will our philoso- 
pher get at vision, or make an eye ? How should 
the blind animal affect sight, of which blind ani- 
mals, we know, have neither conception nor desire ? 
Affecting it, by what operation of its will, by what 
endeavour to see, could it so determine the fluids of 
its body, as to incohate the formation of an eye ? 
or, suppose the eye formed, would the perception 
follow ? The same of the other senses. And this 
objection holds its force, ascribe what you will to 
the hand of time, to the power of habit, to changes 
too slow to be observed by man, or brought within 
any comparison which he is able to make of past 
things With the present : concede what you please 



5}60 OF THE iNATURAL ATTRIBUTES 

to these arbitrary and unattested suppositions, how 
will they help you? Here is no inception. No laws, 
no course, no powers of nature which prevail at 
present, nor any analogous to these, would give 
commencement to a new sense. And it is in vain 
to inquire, how that might proceed, which could 
never begin. 

I think the senses to be the most inconsistent 
with the hypothesis before us, of any part of the 
animal frame. But other parts are sufficiently so. 
The solution does not apply to the parts of animals, 
which have little in them of motion. If we could 
suppose joints and muscles to be gradually formed 
by action and exercise, what action or exercise 
could form a skull, and fill it with brains ? No ef- 
fect of the animal could determine the clothing of 
its skin. What conatus could give prickles to the 
porcupine or hedgehog, or to the sheep its fleece ? 

In the last place : What do these appetencies 
mean when applied to plants ? I am not able to give 
a signification to the term, which can be transferred 
from animals to plants ; or which is common to 
both. Yel a no less successful organization is 
found in plants, than what obtains in animals. A 
solution is wanted for one as well as the other. 

Upon the whole ; after all the schemes and strug- 
gles of a reluctant philosophy, the necessary re- 
sort is to a Deity. The marks of design are too 
strong to be gotten over. Design must have had a 
designer. That designer must have been a person. 
That person is God. 



CHAP. XXIV. 

Of the natural attributes of the Deity. 

It is an immense conclusion, that there is a GoD ; 
a perceiving, intelligent, designing Being ; at the 
head of creation, and from whose will it proceeded. 
The attributes of such a Being, suppose his reality 
to be proved, must be adequate to the magnitude, 
extent, and multiplicity, of his operations : which 
are not only vast beyond comparison with those 
performed by any other power ; but, so far as re^ 



OF THE DEITY. 261 

spects our conception of them, infinite^ because 
they are unlimited on all sides. 

Yet the contemplation of a nature co exalted; 
however surely we arrive at the proof of its exist- 
ence, overwhelms our faculties. The mind feels 
its powers sink under the subject. One conse- 
quence of which is, that from painful abstraction 
the thoughts seek relief in sensible images. Whence 
may be deduced the ancient, and almost universal 
propensity to idolatrous substitutions. They are 
the resources of a labouring imagination. False 
religions usually fall in with the natural propen- 
sity ; true religions, or such as have derived them- 
selves from the true, resist it. 

It is one of the advantages of the revelations 
which we acknowledge, that, whilst they reject 
idolatry with its many pernicious accompaniment?, 
they introduce the Deity to human apprehension, 
under an idea more personal, more determinate, 
more within its compass, than the theology of na- 
ture can do. And this they do by representing 
him exclusively under the relation in which he 
stands to ourselves ; and, for the most part, under 
some precise character, resulting from that rela- 
tion, or from the history of his providences : which 
method suits the span of our intellects much better 
than the universality which enters into the idea of 
God, as deduced from the views of nature. When, 
therefore, these representations are well founded 
in point of authority, (for all depends upon that,) 
they afford a condescension to the state of our facul- 
ties, of which, they who have most reflected on 
the subject, will be the first to acknowledge the 
want and tlie value. 

Nevertheless, if we be careful to imitate the docu- 
ments of our religion, by confining our explana- 
tions to what concerns ourselves, and do not affect 
more precision in our ideas that the subject allows 
of, the several terms which are employed to denote 
the attributes of the Deity, may be made, even 
in natural religion, to bear a sense consistent with 
truth and reason, and not surpassing our compre- 
hension. 

These terms are ; Omnipotence; omniscience, o!ii- 



262 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES 

nipresence, eternity, self-existence, necessary ex- 
istence, spirituality. 

^' Omnipotence," *• omniscience," " infinite'' 
power, '^ infinite" knowledge, are superlatives ; ex- 
pressing our conception of these attributes in the 
strongest and most elevated terms which language 
supplies. We ascribe power to the Deity under 
the name (A •'* omnipotence," the strict and correct 
conclusion being, that a power wiiich could create 
such a world as this is, must be, beyond allcompari- 
sion, greater than any which we experience in our- 
selves, than any which we observe in other visible 
agents ; greater also than any which we can want, 
for our individual protection and preservation, in 
the Being upon whom we depend. It is a power, 
likewise, to which we are not authorized, by our 
observation or knowledge, to assign any limits of 
space or duration. 

Very much of the same sort of remark is appli- 
cable to the term ^^ omniscience," infinite know- 
ledge, or infinite wisdom. In strictness of lan- 
guage, there is a difference between knowledge and 
wisdom ; wisdom always supposing action, and ac- 
tion directed by it. With respect to the first, viz. 
kncnvledge, the Creator must know, intimately, the 
constitution and properties of the things which he 
created ; which seems also to imply a foreknow- 
ledge of their action upon one another, and of their 
changes ; at least,, so far as the same result from 
trains of physical and necessary causes. His om- 
niscience also, as far as respects things present, is 
deducible from his nature, as an intelligent being, 
ioined with the extent, or rather the universality, 
of his operations. Where ho acts, he is ; and 
where he is, he perceives. The ivisdom of the 
Deity, as testified in the works of creation, sur- 
passes all idea we have of wisdom, drawn from the 
highest intellectual operations of the highest class 
of intelligent beings with whom we are acquainted ; 
and, which is of the chief importance to us, what- 
ever be its compass or extent, which it is evidently 
impossible that we should be able to determine, it 
must be adequate to the conduct of that order of 
things under which we live. And this is enough. 
It is of very inferior consequence, by what terms 



OF THE DEITY, 263 

we express our notion, or rather our admiration, of 
this attribute. The terms, which the piety and the 
usage of language have rendered habitual to us, 
may be as proper as any other. We can trace this 
attribute much beyond what is necessary for any 
conclusion to which we have occasion to apply it. 
The degree of knowledge and power requisite for 
the formation of created nature cannot, with re- 
spect to us, be distinguished from infinite. 

The Divine ^' omnipresence'^ stands in natural 
theology upon this foundation : — In every part and 
place of the universe with vvhich we are acquainted^ 
we perceive the exertion of a power, which we be- 
lieve, mediately or immediately, to proceed from 
the Deity. For instance ; in what part or point of 
space, that has Qvcr been explored, do we not dis- 
cover attraction ? In what regions do we not find 
light? In what accessible portion of our globe, do 
we not meet with gravity, magnetism, electricity ; 
together with the properties also and pov/ers of or» 
ganized substances, of vegetable or of animated 
nature ? Nay, farther, we may ask, What kingdom 
is there in nature, what corner of space, in which 
there is any thing that can be examined by us, 
where we do not mil upon contrivance and design ? 
The only reflection perhaps which arises in our 
minds from this view of the world around us is, 
that the laws of nature every where prevail ; that 
they are uniform and universal. But what do we 
mean by the laws of nature, or by any law ? Effects 
are produced by power, not by laws. A law can- 
not execute itself. A law refers us to an agent. 
Now an agency so general, as that we cannot dis- 
cover its absence, or assign the place in which some 
effect of its continued energy is not found, may, in 
popular language at least, and, perhaps, without 
much deviation from philosophical strictness, be 
called universal : and, with not quite the same, but 
with no inconsiderable propriety, the person, or 
Being, in whom that power resides, or from whom 
it is derived, may be taken to be omrdpresent. He 
who upholds all things by his power, may be said 
to te every where present. 

This is called a virtual presence. There is also 
what metaphysicians denominate an essential ubi- 



264 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES; &c 

(julty ; and which idea the language of Scripture 
seems to favour ; but the former, I think, goes as 
far as natural theology carries us. 

" Eternity*' is a negative idea, clothed with a pO' 
sitive name. It supj^oses, in that to which it is 
applied, a present existence ; and is the negation 
of a beginning or an end of that existence. As ap- 
plied to the Deity it has not been controverted by 
those who acknowledge a Deity at all. Most as- 
suredly, there never was a time in which nothing 
existed, because that condition must have conti- 
nued. The universal blank must have remained ; 
nothing could rise up out of it ; nothing could 
ever have existed since ; nothing could exist now. 
In strictness, however, we have no concern with 
duration prior to that of the visible world. Upon 
this article therefore of theology, it is sufficient to 
know, that the contriver necessarily existed before 
the contrivance. 

^' Self-existence" is another negative idea, vii. 
the negation of a preceding cause, ts of a progeni- 
tor, a maker, an author, a creator. 
. '' Necessary existence" means demonstrable ex- 
istence. 

'' Spirituality" expresses an idea, made up of » 
negative part, and of a positive part. The nega- 
tive part consists in the exclusion of some of the 
known properties of matter, especially of solidity, 
of the vis inertioSf and of gravitation. The positive 
part comprises perception, thought, will, power, 
actian ; by which last term is meant, the origina- 
tion of motion ; the quality, perhaps, in which re- 
sides the essential superiority of spirit over matter, 
^' which cannot move, unless it be moved ; and 
cannot but move, when impelled by another.'''* 1 
apprehend that there can be no difficulty in apply 
ing to the Deity both parts of this idea. 

* BisliapWilkiu'l Prificiples of ^^'xtu^al Religion, p. 106. 



If 



THE UNITY OF THE DEITY. S65 

CHAPTER XXV. 

TJie Unity of the Deity. 
Of the ' Unity of the Deity/ the proof is^ the 

uniformity of plan observable in the universe. The 
universe itself is a system ; each part either de- 
pending upon other parts, or being connected with 
other parts by some common law of motion, or by 
the presence of some common substance. One 
principle of gravitation causes a stone to drop to- 
wards the earth; and the moon to wheel round it.— 
One law of attraction carries all the different planets 
about the sun. This philosophers demonstrate. — 
There are also other points of agreement amongst 
them, which may be considered as marks of the 
identity of their origin, and of their intelligent Au- 
thor. In all are found the conveniency and stabili- 
ty derived from gravitation. They all experience 
vicissitudes of days and nights, and changes of sea- 
son. They all, at least Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, 
have the same advantages from their atmosphere as 
we have. In all the planets, the axes of rotation 
are permanent. Nothing is more probable than that . 
the same attracting influence, acting according to 
the same rule, reaches to the fixed stars : but, if 
this be only probable, another thing is certain, viz, 
that the same element of light does. The light 
from a fixed star affects our eyes in the same man- 
ner, is refracted and reflected according to the same 
laws, as the light of a candle. The velocity of the 
light of the fixed stars is also the same as the velo- 
city of the light of the sun, reflected from the sa- 
tellites of Jupiter. The heat of the sun, in kind, 
differs nothing from the heat of a coal fire. 

In our own globe, the case is clearer. New coun- 
tries are continually discovered, but the old laws 
of nature are always found in them : new plants 
perhaps, or animals, but always in company with 
plants and animals which we already know ; and 
always possessing many of the same general pro- 
perties. We never get amongst such original, or 
totally different, modes of existence, as to indicate, 
that we are come into the province of a different 
Creator, or under the direction o^ a different wiJ! 
22 



26q the unity 

In truth; the same order of thmgs attends us, whei ^ 
ever we go. The elements act upon one another^ 
electricity operates, the tides rise and fall, the mag- 
netic needle elects its position, in one region of the 
earth and sea, as well as in another. One atmo- 
sphere invests all parts of the globe, and connects 
all ; one sun illuminates, one moon exerts its spe- 
cific attraction upon all parts. If there be a varie- 
ty in natural effects, as e. g. in the tides of different 
seas, that very variety is the result of the same 
cause, acting under dilTerent circumstances. In 
many cases this is proved; in all, is probable. 

The inspection and comparison of living forms, 
add to this argument examples without number. 
Of all large terrestrial animals, the structure is very 
much alike ; their senses nearly the same; their 
natural functions and passions nearly the same 
their viscera nearly the same, both in substance, 
shape, and office : digestion, nutrition, circulation,, 
secretion, go on, in a similar manner, in all : the 
great circulating fluid is the same ; for, I think, no 
difference has been discovered in the properties of 
blood, from whatever animal it be drawn. The ex- 
.periment of transfusion proves, that the blood oi 
one animal will ser^^e for another. The skeletons 
also of the larger terrestrial animal, show particu- 
lar varieties, but still under a great general affini- 
ty. The resemblance is somewhat less, yet suffi* 
ciently evident, between quadrupeds and birds. 
They are all alike in five respects, for one in which 
they differ. 

In fsh, which belong to another department, as 
it were, of nature, the points of comparison become 
fewer. But we never lose sight of our analogy, e.^-, 
we still meet with a stomach, a liver, a spine ; with 
bile and blood ; with teeth ; with eyes (which eyes 
are only slightly varied from our own, and which 
variation, in truth, demonstrates not an interrupt 
rion, but a continuance of the same exquisite plan , 
lor it is the adaptation of the organ to the element, 
viz. to the difierent refraction of light passing into 
the eye out of a denser medium.) The provmces, 
also, themselves of water and earth, are connected 
by the species of animals which inhabit both ; and 
also by a large tribe of aquatic animals, which closo- 



OF THE DEITY. m 

V resemble the terrestrial in their internal struc- 
ture : I mean the cetaceous tribe^ which have hot 
blood, respiring lungs, bowels, and other essential 
parts, like tliose of land animals. This similitude, 
surely, bespeaks the same creation and the same 
Creator. 

Insects and shell-Jish appear to me to differ from 
nther classes of animals the most widely of any. 
Yet even here, beside many points of particular re- 
semblance, there exists a general relation of a pe- 
culiar kind. It is the relation of inversion ; the 
law of contrariety : namely, that, whereas, in other 
animals, the bones, to which the muscles are attach- 
ed, lie within the body ; in insects and shell-fish^ 
they lie on the outside of it. The shell of a lobster 
performs to the animal the office of a bone, by fur- 
nishing to the tendons that fixed basis or immovea- 
ble fulcrum, without which, mechanically, the}- 
could not act. The crust of an ir-sect is its shell, 
and answers the like purpose. The shell also of 
an oyster stands in the place of a bone , the bases 
oi the muscles being fixed to it, in the same manner 
as, in other animals, they are fixed to the bones 
All which (under wonderful varieties, indeed, and 
adaptations of form,) confesses an imitation, a re- 
membrance, a carrying on of the same plan. 

The observations here made, are equally appli- 
cable to j)lants ; but, I think, unnecessary to be pur- 
sued. It is a very striking circumstance, and alone 
sufficient to prove all which we contend for, that, 
in this part likewise of organized nature, we per- 
ceive a continuation of the sexual system. 

Certain, however, it is, that the whole argument 
for the Divine unity, goes no farther than to a uni 
ty of counsel. 

It may likewise be acknowledged, that no argu- 
ments which we are in possession of, exclude the 
ministry of subordinate agents. If such there be, 
they act under a presiding, a controlling will ; be- 
cause they act according to certain general restric- 
tions, by certain common rules, and, as it should 
seem, upon a general plan : but still such agents, 
and different ranks, and classes, and degrees of 
them, may be employed. 



2G^ THE GOODNESS 

CHAP. XXVI. 

The goodness of the Deity. 

The proof of the Divine goodness rests upon twa 
propositions : each, as we contend, capable of be- 
ing made out by observations drawn from the ap- 
pearances of nature. 

The first is, '^ that, in a vast plurality of instances 
in which contrivance is perceived, the design of 
the contrivance is heneJicialP 

The second, ''that the Deity has superadded 
pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was ne- 
cessary for any other purpose, or when the purpose, 
so far as it was necessary, might have been effect- 
ed by the operation of pain/' 

First, ''in a vast plurality of instances in which 
contrivance is perceived, the design of the contriv- 
ance is beneJiciaL'^ 

No productions of nature display contrivance so 
manifestly as the parts of animals ; and the parts of 
animals have all of them, I believe, a real, and, 
with very few exceptions, all of them a known and 
intelligible, subserviency to the use of the animal. 
Now, when the multitude of animals is considered, 
the number of parts in each, their figure and lit- 
iiess, the faculties depending upon them, the va- 
riety of species, the complexity of structure, the 
success, in so many cases, and felicity of the re- 
sult, we can never reflect, without the profoundest 
adoration, upon the character of that Being from 
whom all these things have proceeded : we cannot 
help acknowledging, what an exertion of benevo- 
lence creation was ; of a benevolence how minute 
in its care, how vast in its comprehension I 

When we appeal to the parts and faculties of ani- 
mals, and to the limbs and senses of animals in 
particular, we state, I conceive, the proper medium 
of proof for the conclusion which we wish to esta- 
blish, I will not say, that the insensible parts of 
nature are made solely for the sensitive parts : but 
this I say, that, when we consider the benevolence 
of the Deity, we can only consider it in relation to 
sensitive being. Without this reference, or refer- 
red to any thing else, the attribute has no object : 



OP THE DEITY. 2^9 

the term has no meaning. Dead matter is nothing". 
The parts, therefore, especially the limbs and senses 
of animals, although they constitute, in mass and 
quantity, a small portion of the material creation, 
yet, since they alone are instruments of perception, 
they compose what may be called the whole of vi- 
sible nature, estimated with a view to the disposi- 
tion of its Author. Consequently, it is in these that 
we are to seek his character. It is by these that 
we are to prove, that the world was made with a 
benevolent design. 

Nor is the design abortive. It is a happy world 
after all. The air, the earth, the water, teem with 
delighted existence. In a spring noon, or a summer 
evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads 
of happy beings crowd upon my view. " The in- 
sect youth are on the wing.'' Swarms of new-born 
Jlies, are trying their pinions in the air. Their 
sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their gratui- 
tous activity, their continual change of place with- 
out use or purpose, testify their joy, and the exult- 
ation which they feel in their lately discovered fa- 
culties. A bee amongst the flowers in spring, is one 
of the most cheerful objects that can be looked upon , 
Its life appears to be all enjoyment ; so busy, and 
so pleased , yet it is only a specimen of insect life, 
with which, by reason of the animal being half do- 
mesticated, we happen to be better acquainted than 
we are with that of others. The ivhole winged in- 
sect tribe, it is probable, are equally intent upon 
their proper employments, and, under every variety 
of constitution, gratified, and perhaps equally gra- 
tified, by the offices which the Author of their na- 
ture has assigned to them. But the atmosphere is 
not the only scene of enjoyment for the insect race. 
Plants are covered with aphides, greedily sucking 
their juices, and constantly, as it should seem, in 
the act of sucking. It cannot be doubted but that 
this is a state of gratification. What else should 
fix them so close to the operation, and so long ? 
Other species are running about, with an alacrity 
in their motions, which carries with it every mark 
of pleasure. Large patches of ground are sometimes 
half covered with these brisk and sprightly natures. 
If we look to what the wateis produce, shoals of the 



i}70 THE GOODNESS 

fry offish frequent the margins of rivers, of lake?, 
and of the sea itself. These are so happy, that thev 
know not what to do with themselves. Their atti- 
tudes, their vivacity, their leaps out of the water, 
their frolics in it, (which I have noticed a thousand 
times with equal attention and amusement,) all con- 
duce to show their excess of spirits, and are simply 
the effects of that excess. Walking by the sea-side, 
in a calm evening, upon a sandy shore, and with an 
ebbing tide, I have frequently remarked the appear- 
ance of a dark cloud, or, rather, very thick mist, 
hanging over the edge of the water, to the height, 
perhaps, of half a yard, and of the breadth of two 
or three yards, stretching along the coast as far as 
the eye could reach, and always retiring with the 
Water. When this cloud came to be examined, it 
proved to be nothing else than so much space, filled 
with young shrimys, in the act of bounding into the 
air from the shallow margin of the water, or from, 
the wet sand. If any motion of a mute animal could 
express delight, it was this : if they had meant to 
make signs of their happiness, they could not have 
done it more intelligibly. Suppose, then, what I 
have no doubt of, each individual of this number to 
be in a state of positive enjoyment; what a sum, 
collectively , of gratification and pleasure have we 
here before our view ! 

The young of all animals appear to me to receive 
pleasure simply from the exercise of their limbs and 
bodily faculties, without reference to any end to be 
attained, or any use to be answered by the exertion.^ j j 
A child, without knowing any thing of the use of \ 
language, is in a high degree delighted with being 
able to speak. Its incessant repetition of a few ar- 
ticulate sounds, or, perhaps, of the single word 
which it has learnt to pronounce, proves this point 
clearly. Nor is it less pleased with its first suc- 
cessful endeavours to walk, or rather to run, (which 
precedes walking,) although entirely ignorant of 
the importance of the attainment to its future life, 
and even without applying it to any present pur- 
pose. A child is delighted with speakm^, without 
having any thing to say ; and with walkmg, with- 
out knowing where to go. And, prior to both these, 
I am disposed to believe, that the walking hours of 



OF THE DEITY, 271 

infancy are agreeably taken up with the exercise of 
vision, or perhaps, more properly speaking-, with 
learning to see. 

But it is not for youth alone that the great Parent, 
of creation hath provided. Happiness is found with 
the purring cat, no less than with the playful kit* 
ten ; in the arm-chair of dozing age, as well as in 
either the sprightliness of the dance or the anima- 
tion of the chase. To novelty, to acuteness of sen* 
sation, to hope, to ardour of pursuit, succeds, what 
is, in no inconsiderable degree, an equivalent for 
them all, ^' perception of ease." Herein is the ex- 
act difference between the young and tlie old. The 
young are not happy but when enjoying pleasure ; 
the old are happy when free from pain. And this 
constitution suits with the degrees of animal power 
which they respectively possess. The vigour of 
youth was to be stimulated to action by impatienc*^. 
of rest; whilst to the imbecility of age, quietnesF 
and repose become positive gratification. In one 
important respect the advantage is with the old, 
A state of ease is, generally speaking, more attain- 
able than a state of pleasure. A constitution, 
therefore, which can enjoy ease, is preferable to 
that which can taste only pleasure. This same 
perception of ease oftentimes renders old age a con- 
dition of great comfort ; especially when riding at 
its anchor after a busy or tempestuous life. It is 
well described by Rousseau, to be the interval of 
repose and enjoyment, between the hurry and the 
end of life. How far the same cause extends to 
other animal natures, cannot be judged of with cer- 
tainty. The appearance of satisfaction, with which 
most animals, as their activity subsides, seek and 
enjoy rest, affords reason to believe, that this source 
of gratification is appointed to advanced life, under 
all, or most of its various forms. In the species 
with which we are best acquainted, namely, our 
own, I am far, even as an observer of human life, 
from thinking that youth 'is its happiest season, 
mucii less the only happy one : as a Christian, I 
am willing to believe that there is a great deal of 
truth -jn the following representation given by a 



:37^ THE GOODNESS 

very pious writer, as well as excellent man :^ '^ To 
the intelligent and virtuous, old age presents a 
scene of tranquil enjoyments, of obedient appetite, 
of well-regulated alfections, of maturity in know- 
ledge, and of calm preparation for immortality. In 
this serene and dignified state, placed as it were on 
the confines of two worlds, the mind of a good man 
reviews what is past with a complacency of an ap- 
proving conscience ; and looks forward with hum- 
ble confidence in the mercy of God, and with de- 
vout aspirations towards his eternal and ever-in- 
creasing favour/' 

What is seen in different stages of the same life, 
is still more exemplified in the lives of different ani- 
mals. Animal enjoyments are infinitely diversified. 
The modes of life, to which the organization of 
different animals respectively determines them, are 
not only of various but of opposite kinds. Yet each 
is happy in its own. For instance : animals of prey 
live much alone ; animals of a milder constitution, 
in society. Yet the herring, which lives in shoals> 
and the sheep, which lives in flocks, are not more 
happy in a crowd, or more contented amongst their 
companions, than is the pike or the lion, with the 
deep solitudes of the pool or the forest. 

But it wil be said, that the instances which we 
have here brought forward, whether of vivacity or 
repose, or of apparent enjoyment derived from 
either, are picked and favourable instances. We 
answer, first, that they are instances, nevertheless, 
which comprise large provinces of sensitive exist- 
ence; that every case which we have described, ir? 
the case of millions. At this moment, in every 
given moment of time, how many myriads of ani- 
mals are eating their food, gratifying their appe- 
tites, ruminating in their holes, accomplishing their 
wishes, pursuing their pleasures, taking their pas- 
times ! In each mdividual, how many tilings must 
go right for it to be at ease ; yet how large a pro- 
portion out of every species is so in every assigna- 
ble instant ! Secondly, we contend, in the terms of 
our original proposition, that throughout the whole 
of life, as it is diffused in nature, and as far as we 

"^ F.ither'e Instructions ; by Pr. Percival of Manchester, p. 3! 7 



OF THE DEITY. 21 

are acquainted with it, looking to the average of 
sensations, the plurality and the preponderancy is 
in favour of happiness by a vast excess. In our 
own species, in which perhaps the assertion may 
be more questionable than in any other, the pre- 
pollency of good over evil, of health, for example, 
and ease, over pain and distress, is evinced by the 
very notice which calamities excite. What inqui- 
ries does the sickness of our friends produce ! what 
conversation their misfortunes ! This shows that 
the common course of things is in favour of happi- 
ness ; that happiness is the rule, misery the excep- 
tion. Were the order reversed, our attention would 
be called to examples of health and competency, 
instead of disease and want. 

One great cause of our insensibility to the good- 
ness of the Creator, is the very extensiveness of his 
bounty. We prize but little what we share only 
in common with the rest, or with the generality of 
our species. When we hear of blessings, we think 
forthwith of successes, of prosperous fortunes, of 
honours, riches, preferments, i. e. of those advan- 
tages and superiorities over others, which we hap- 
pen either to possess, or to be in pursuit of, or to 
covet. The common benefits of our nature entire- 
ly escape us. Yet these are the great things. 
These constitute what most properly ought to be 
accounted blessings of Providence ; what alone, if 
we might so speak, are worthy of its care. Nightly 
rest and daily bread, the ordinary use of our limbs, 
and senses, and understandings, are gifts which 
admit of no comparison with any other. Yet, be- 
cause almost every man we meet with possesses 
these, we leave them out of our enumeration. They 
raise no sentiment ; they move no gratitude. Now^ 
herein is our judgment perverted by our self- 
ishness. A blessing ought in truth to be the more 
satisfactory, the bounty at least of the donor is 
rendered more conspicuous, by its very diffusion, 
its commonness, its cheapness ; by its falling to 
the lot, and forming the happiness, of the great bulk 
and body of our species, as well as of ourselves. 
Nay, even when we do not possess it, it ought to 
be matter of thankfulness that others do. But we 
have a different way of thinking. We court dis- 
23 



274 THE GOODNESS 

tinction. That is not the worst ; we see nothing 
but what has distmction to recommend it. This 
necessarily contracts our views of the Creator's be- 
neficence within a narrow compass : and most un- 
justly. It is in those things which are so common 
as to be no distinction, that the amplitude of the 
divine benignity is perceived. 

But pain, no doubt, and privation exist, in nume- 
rous instances, and to a degree, which, collectively. 
would be very great, if they were compared with 
any other thing than with the mass of animal frui- 
tion. For the application, therefore, of our propo- 
sition to that mixed state of things which these ex- 
ceptions induce, two rules are necessary, and both, 
I think, just and fair rules. One is, that we regard 
those effects alone which are accompanied with 
proofs of intention : the other, that when v/e can- 
not resolve all appearances into benevolence of de- 
sign, we make the few give place to the many ; the 
little to the great ; that we take our judgment from 
a large and decided preponderancy, if there be one. 

I crave leave to transcribe into this place, what 
I have said upon this subject in my Moral Philoso- 
phy :— 

*^ When God created the human species, either 
he wished their happiness, or he wished their mise- 
ry, or he was indifferent and unconcerned about 
either. 

^' If he had wished our misery, he might have 
made sure of his purpose, by forming our senses to 
be so many sores and pains to us, as they are now 
instruments of gratification and enjoyment: or by 
placing us amidst objects, so ill suited to our per- 
ceptions as to have continually offended us, instead 
of ministering to our refreshment and delight. He 
might have made, for example, every tning we 
tasted, bitter; every thing we saw, loathsome; 
everything we touched, a sting; every smell, a' 
stench; and every sound, a discord. 

^' If he had been indifferent about our happiness 
or misery, we must impute to our good fortune (as 
all design by this supposition is excluded) both the 
capacity of our senses to receive pleasure, and the 
supply of external objects fitted to produce it. 

^* But either of these, and still more both of them, 



OF THE DEITY. 275 

being too much to be attributed to accident, no- 
thing remains but the first supposition, that God. 
when he created the human species, wished their 
happiness ; and made for them the provision which 
hs has made, with that view and for that purpose. 

'' The same argument may be proposed in differ- 
ent terms ; thus : Contrivance proves design : and 
the predominant tendency of the contrivance indi» 
cates the disposition of the designer. The world 
abounds with contrivances ; and all the contrivances 
which we are acquainted with, are directed to be- 
neficial purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists ; but is 
never, that we can perct;ive, the object of contri- 
vance. Teeth are contrived to eat, not to ache : 
their aching now and then is incidental to the con- 
trivance, perhaps inseparable from it : or even, if 
you will, let it be called a defect in the contrivance : 
but it is not the object of it. This is a distinction 
which well deserves to be attended to. In describ- 
ing implements of husbandry, you would hardly say 
of the sickle, that it is made to cut the reaper's 
hand; though from the construction of the instru- 
ment, and the manner of using it, this mischief of= 
ten follows. But if you had occasion to describe 
instruments of torture, or execution : this engine^ 
you would say, is to extend the sinews : this to dis- 
locate the joints ; this to break the bones ; this to 
scorch the soles of the feet. Here, pain and mise- 
ry are the very objects of the contrivance. Now, 
nothing of this sort is to be found in the works of 
nature. We never discover a train of contrivance 
to bring about an evil purpose. No anatomist ever 
discovered a system of organization calculated to 
produce pain and disease; or, in explaining the 
parts of the human body, ever said, this is to irri- 
tate ; this to inflame ; this duct is to convey the 
gravel to the kidneys ; this gland to secrete the hu* 
mour which forms the gout : if by chance he come 
at a part of which he knows not the use, the most 
he can say is, that it is useless : no one ever sus- 
pects that it is put there to incommode, to annoy, 
or to torment.'^ 

The TWO CASES which appear to me to have the 
most of difficulty in them, as forming the most of 
the appearance of exception to the representation 



^76 THE GOODNESS 

here given, are those of venomous animals, and of 
animals preying upon one another. These proper- 
ties of animals, wherever they are found, must, I 
think, be referred to design ; because there is in all 
cases of the first, and in most cases of the second, 
an express and distinct organization provided for 
the producing of them. Under the first head, the 
fangs of vipers, the stings of wasps and scorpions, 
are as clearly intended for their purpose, as any 
animal structure is for any purpose the most incon- 
lestably beneficial. And the same thing must, un- 
der the second head, be acknowledged of the talons 
and beaks of birds, of the tusks, teeth, and claws, 
of beasts of prey : of the shark's mouth, of the spi- 
der's web, and of numberless weapons of offence 
belonging to different tribes of voracious insects. 
We cannot, therefore, avoid the difficulty by say- 
ing, that the effect was not intended. The only 
question open to us is, whether it be ultimately evil. 
From the confessed and felt imperfection of our 
knowledge, we ought to presume, that there may 
be consequences of this economy which are hidden 
from us ; from the benevolence which pervades the 
general designs of nature, we ou^ht also to pre- 
sume, that these consequences, if they could enter 
into our calculation, would turn the balance on the 
favourable side. Both these I contend to be rea- 
sonable presumptions. Not reasonable presump- 
tions, if these two cases were the only cases which 
nature presented to our observation ; but reasonable 
presumptions under the reflection, that the cases 
in question are combined with a multitude of inten- 
tions, all proceeding from the same author, and all, 
except these, directed to ends of undisputed utility. 
Of the vindications, however, of this economy, which 
we are able to assign, such as most extenuate the 
difficulty, are the following. 

With respect to venomous bites and stings, it may 
be observed, — 

1. That, the animal itself being regarded, the fa- 
rulty complained of is good : being conducive, in all 
cases, to the defence of the animal ; in some cases, 
to the subduing of its prey ; and in some, probably, 
to the killing of it, when caught, by a mortal wound, 
inflicted in the passage to tlie stomach, which may 



OF THE DEITY, 277 

be no less merciful to the victim; than sahitary to 
the devourer. In the viper, for instance, the poison- 
ous fang may do that which, in other animals of 
prey, is done by the crush of the teeth. Frogs and 
mice might be swallowed alive without it. 

2. But it will be said, that this provision, when it 
comes to the case of bites, deadly even to human 
bodies and to those of large quadrupeds, is greatly 
overdone ; that it might have fulfilled its use, and 
yet have been much less deleterious than it is. Now 
I believe the case of bites, which produce death in 
large animals (of stings I think there are none) to 
be very few. The experiments of the Abbe Fon- 
tana, which were numerous, go strongly to the 
proof of this point. He found that it required the 
action of five exasperated vipers to kill a dog of a 
moderate size : but that, to the killing of a mouse 
or a frog, m single bite was sufficient ; which agrees 
with the use we assign to the faculty. The Abbe 
seemed to be of opinion, that the bite even of the 
rattlesnake, would not usually be mortal : allowing, 
however, that in certain particularly unfortunate 
cases, as when the puncture had touched some very 
tender part, pricked a principal nerve for instance, 
or, as it is said, some more considerable lymphatic 
vessel, death might speedily ensue. 

3. It has been, I think, very justly remarked, 
concerning serpents ; that, whilst only a few spe- 
cies possess the venomous property, that property 
guards the whole tribe. The most innocuous snake 
IS avoided with as much care as a viper. Now the 
terror with which large animals regard this class 
of reptiles, is its protection; and this terror is 
founded on the formidable revenge, which a few of 
the number, compared with the whole, are capable 
of taking. The species of serpents, described by 
Linnaeus, amount to two hundred and eighteen, of 
which thirty-two only are poisonous. 

4. It seems to me, that animal constitutions arc 
provided, not only for each element, but for each 
state of the elements, i. e. for every climate, and 
for every temperature; and that part of the mis- 
chief complained of, arises from animals (the hu- 
man animal most especially) occupying situations; 
upon the earth, which do not belong lo them, nor 



;'78 THE GOODNESS 

were ever intended for their habitation. The folly 
and wickedness of mankind, and necessities pro- 
ceeding from these causeS; have driven muhitudes 
of the species to seek a refuge amongst burning 
sands, whilst countries, blessed with hospitable 
skies, and with the most fertile soils, remain al- 
most without a human tenant. We invade the ter- 
ritories of wild beasts and venomous reptiles, and 
then complain that we are infested by their bites 
and stings. 

Some accounts of Africa place this observation 
in a strong point of view. *^ The deserts,"' says 
Adanson, *^ are entirely barren, except where they 
are found to produce serpents : and in such quan- 
tities, that some extensive plains are almost entirely 
covered with them." These are the natures ap- 
propriated to the situation. Let them enjoy their 
existence; let them have their country. Surface 
enough will be left to man, though his numbers 
were increased a hundred-fold, and left to him, 
where he might live, exempt from these annoy- 
ances. 

The SECOND CASE, viz. that of Qimnals devow'wg 
one another, furnishes a consideration of much 
larger extent. To judge whether, as a general pro- 
vision, this can be deemed an evil, even so far as we 
understand its consequences, which, probably, is a 
partial understanding-, the following reflections are 
fit to be attended to. 

1. Immortality upon this earth is out of the ques- 
tion. Without death there could be no generation, 
no sexes, no parental relation, i. e. as things are 
constituted, no animal happiness. The particular 
duration of life, assigned to different animals, can 
form no part of the objection ; because, whatever 
that duration be, whilst it remains finite and limit- 
ed, it may always be asked, why it is no longer. 
The natural age of different animals varies, from a 
single day to a century of years. No account can 
be given of this ; nor could any be given, whatever 
other proportion of life had obtained amongst them. 

The term then of life in different animals being 
the same as it is, the question is, what mode vi 
taking it awav is the best even for the animal i' 



OF THE DEITY, 079 

Now, according to the established order of na- 
?ure, (which we raust suppose to prevail, or we 
cannot reason at all upon the subject,) the three 
methods by which life is usually put an end to, 
are, acute diseases, decay, and violence The sim- 
ple and natural life of brutes, is not often visited by 
acute distempers : nor could it be deemed an im- 
provement of their lot, if they were. Let it be con- 
sidered, therefore, in what a condition of suffering 
and misery a brute animal is placed, which is leu 
to perish by decay. In human sickness or infirmi- 
ty, there is the assistance of man's rational fellow- 
creatures, if not to alleviate his pains, at least to 
minister to his necessities, and to supply the place 
of his own activity. A brute, in his wild and natu- 
ral state, does every thing for himself. When his 
strength, therefore, or his speed, or his limbs, or 
his senses, fail him, he is delivered over, either to 
absolute famine, or to the protracted wretchedness 
of a life slowly wasted by the scarcity of food. Is 
it then to see the world filled with drooping, super- 
annuated, half-starved, helpless, and unhclped ani- 
mals, that you would alter the present system of 
pursuit and prey ? 

2. Which system is also to them the spring of 
motion and activity on both sides. The pursuit of 
its prey forms the employment, and appears to 
constitute the pleasure of a considerable part of 
the animal creotion. The using of the means of 
defence, or flight, or precaution, forms also the bu- 
siness of another part. And even of this latter 
tribe, we have no reason to suppose, that their hap- 
piness is much molested by tlieir fears. Their dan- 
ger exists continually ; and, in some cases, they 
seem to be so far sensible of it as to provide, in the 
best manner they can, against it; but it is only 
when the attack is actually made upon them, that 
they appear to suffer from it. To contemplate the 
insecurity of their condition with anxiety and 
dread, requires a degree of reflection, which (hap- 
pily for themselves) they do not possess. A hare, 
notwithstanding the number of its dangers, and its 
enemies, is as playful an animal as any other. 

3. But, to do justice to the question, the system 
of animal dedtruction 0U'i:ht 'dh\'avs to be considered 



-280 THE GOODNESS 

in strict connexion with another property of nni- 
mal nature, viz. supe.rfecunditij. They arecounter- 
vailine- qualities. One subsists by the correction of 
the other. In treating, therefore, of the subject un- 
der this view, {which is, 1 believe, the true one.) 
our business willbC; first, to point out the advanta- 
ges which are gained by the powers in nature of a 
superabundant multiplication : and, then, to show, 
that these advantages are so many reasons for ap- 
pointing that system of national hostilities, whicli 
we are endeavouring to account for. 

In almost all cases, nature produces her supplies 
with profusion. A single codfish spawns, in one 
season, a greater number of eggs, than all the inha- 
bitants of England amount to. A thousand other in- 
stances of prolific generation might be stated, which . 
though not equal to this, would carry on the increase 
of the species with a rapidity which'outruns calcula- 
tion, and to an immeasurable extent. The advan- 
tages of such a constitution are two ; first, that it 
tends to keep the world always full ; whilst second- 
ly, it allows the proportion between the several 
species of animals to be diiTerently modified, as dif- 
ferent purposes require, or as difterent situations 
may afford for them room and food. Where this 
vast fecundity meets with a vacancy fitted to re- 
ceive the species, there it operates with its whole 
effect ; there it pours in its numbers, and replenish- 
*^s the waste. We complain of what we call the ex- 
orbitant multiplication of some troublesome insects . 
not reflecting, that large portions of nature might 
be left void without it. If the accounts of travel- 
lers may be depended upon, immense tracts of fo- 
rest in North America, would be nearly lost to 
sensitive exi.-tence, if it were not for gnats. *' In 
the thinly inhabited regions of America, in which 
the waters stagnate and tlie climate is warm, the 
whole air is filled with crowds of these insects." — 
Thus it is, that where we looked for solitude an(i 
death-like silence, we meet with animation, activi- 
ty, enjoyment ; with a busy, a happy, and a peo- 
pled world. Again, hosts of mice are reckoned 
amongst the plagues of the north-east part of Eu- 
rope ; whereas vast plains in Siberia, as we learn from 
^ood authority, would be lileiess without them.— 



OF THE DEITY, 281 

The Caspian deserts are converted by their pre- 
sence into crowded warrens. Between the Volffa 
and the Yaik, and in the country of Hyrcania; the 
ground, says Pallas, is in many places covered with 
little hills, raised by the earth cast out in forming 
the burrows. Do we so envy these blissful abodes 
as to pronounce the fecundity by which they are 
supplied with inhabitants, to be an evil : a subject 
of complaint and not of praise ? Farther, by virtue 
of this same superfecundity, what we term destruc- 
tion, becomes almost instantly the parent of life. — 
What we call blights, are, oftentimes, legions of 
animated beings, claiming their portion in the 
bounty of nature. What corrupts the produce of 
the earth to us, prepares it for them. And it is by 
means of their rapid multiplication, that they take 
possession of their pasture ; a slow propagation 
would not meet with the opportunity. 

But in conjunction with the occasional use of 
thisfruitfulness,we observe, also, that it allows the 
proportion between the several species of animals 
to be differently modified, as different purposes of 
utility may require. When the forests of America 
come to be cleared, and the swamps drained, our 
gnats will give place to other inhabitants. If the 
population of Europe should spread to the north 
and the east, the mice will retire before the hus- 
bandman and the shepherd, and yield their station 
to herds and flocks. In what concerns the human 
species, it may be a part of the scheme of Provi- 
dence, that the earth should be inhabited by a shift 
ing, or perhaps a circulating population. ' In this 
economy, it is possible that there may be the fol- 
lowing advantages : when old countries arc become 
exceedingly corrupt, simpler modes of life, purer 
morals, and better institutions, may rise up in new 
ones, whilst fresh soils reward the cultivator witli 
more plentiful returns. Thus the different por- 
tions of the globe come into use in succession as 
the residence of man ; and, in his absence, enter- 
tain other guests, which, by their sudden multipli 
cation, fdl the chasm. In domesticated animals, 
we find the effect of their fecundity to be, that we 
can always command numbers ; we can always have 
as many of any particular species as wc please, or 



232 THE GOODNESS 

as we can support. Nor do we complain of its ex- 
cess ; it being much more easy to regulate abun- 
dance, than to supply scarcity. 

But then this sujjerfeamditij, though of great oc- 
casional use and importance, exceeds the ordinary 
capacity of nature to receive or support its pro- 
geny. All superabundance supposes destruction, 
or must destroy itself. Perhaps there is no species 
of terrestrial animals whatever, which would not 
overrun the earth, if it were permitted to multiply 
in perfect safety ; or of fish, which would not fill 
the ocean : at least, if any single species were left 
to their natural increase without disturbance or re- 
straint, the food of other species would be exhaust- 
ed by their maintenance. It is necessary, there- 
fore, that the effects of such prolific faculties be 
curtailed. In conjunction with other checks and 
limits, all subservient to the same purpose, are the 
tJminings which take place among animals, by their 
action upon one another. In some instances we 
ourselves experience, very directly, the use of 
these hostilities. One species of insects rids us of 
another species ; or reduces their ranks. A third 
species, perhaps, keeps the second within bounds : 
and birds or lizards are a fence against the inordi- 
nate increase by which even these last mi^ht infest 
us. In other, more numerous, and possibly more 
important, instances, this disposition of things, al- 
though less necessary or useful to us, and of course 
less observed by us, may be necessary and useful 
to certain other species : or even for the preventing 
of the loss of certain species from the universe : a 
misfortune which seems to be studiously guarded 
against. Though there may be the appearance of 
failure in some of the details of Nature's works, in 
her great purposes there never are. Her species 
never fail. Tiie provision which was originally 
made for continuing the replenishment of the world , 
has proved itself to be effectual through a long suc- 
cession of a^es. 

What farther shows, that the system of destruc- 
tion amongst animals holds an express relation to 
the system of fecundity ; that they are parts indeed 
of one compensatory scheme; is, that, in eac/i 
species, the fecundity bears a proportion to the 



OF THE DEITY. 283 

Sfflallness of the animal; to the weakness, to the 
shortness, of its natural term of life, and to the 
dangers and enemies by which it is surrounded. 
An elephant produces but one calf; a butterfly lays 
six hundred eggs. Birds of prey seldom produce 
more than two eggs : the sparrow tribe, and the 
duck tribe, frequently sit upon a dozen. In the 
rivers, we meet with a thousand minnows for one 
pike : in the sea, a million of herrings for a single 
shark. Compensation obtains throughout. De- 
fencelessness and devastation are repaired by 
fecundity. 

We have dwelt the longer on these considera- 
tions, because the subject to which they apply, 
namely, that of animals devouring one another, 
forms I he chief, if not the only instance, in the 
works of the Deity, of an economy, stamped by 
marks of design, in which the character of utility 
can be called in question. The case of venomous 
animals is of much inferior consequence to the case 
of prey, and, in some degree, is also included 
under it. To both cases it is probable that many 
more reasons belong, than those of which we are in 
possession. 

Our FIRST PROPOsiTiOiN', and that which we 
have hitherto been defending, was, ^' that, in a 
vast plurality of instances, in which contrivance 
is perceived, the design of the contrivance is bene- 
ficial." 

Our SECOND PROPOSITION is, '*' that the Deit)^ 
has added pleasure to animal sensations, beyond 
what was necessary for any other purpose, or when 
the purpose, so far as it was necessary, might have 
been effected by the operation of pain.'' 

This proposition may be thus explained : The 
capacities, which, according to the established 
course of nature, are necessary to the support or 
preservation of an animal, however manifestly they 
may be the result of an organization contrived for 
the purpose, can only be deemed an act or a part 
of the same will, as that which decreed the exist- 
ence of the animal itself; because, whether the 
creation proceeded from a benevolent or a malevo- 
lent being, these capacities must have been given, 
if the animal existed at all. Animal properties. 



•JS4 THE GOODNESS 

therefore, which fall under this description, c.o not 
strictly prove the goodness of God : they ma> 
prove the existence of the Deity ; they may prove 
a high degree of power and intelligence : but they 
do not prove his goodness ; forasmuch as they must 
have been found in any creation which was capa- 
ble of continuance, although it is possible to sup- 
pose, that such a creation might have been pro- 
duced by a being whose views rested upon misery. 

But there is a class of properties, which may be 
said to be superadded from an intention expressly 
directed to happiness ; an intention to give a happy 
existence distinct from the general intention of 
providing the means of existence ; and that is, of 
capacities for pleasure, in cases wherein, so far as 
the conversation of the individual or of the species 
is concerned, they were not wanted, or wherein 
the purpose might have been secured by the ope- 
ration of pain. The provision which is made of a 
variety of objects, not necessary to life, and minis- 
tering only to our pleasures ; and the properties 
given to the necessaries of life themselves, by 
which they contribute to pleasure as well as pre- 
servation ; show a farther design, than that of 
giving existence.* 

A single instance will make all this clear. As- 
suming the necessity of food for the support of 
animal life ; it is requisite, that the animal be pro- 
vided with organs, fitted for the procuring, receiv- 
ing, and digesting, of its food. It may also be Ne- 
cessary, that the animal be impelled by its sensa- 
tions to exert its oro^ans. But the pain of hunger 
would do all this. Why add pleasure to the act of 
eating ; sweetness and relish to food ? why a new 
and appropriate sense for the perception of the 
pleasure 1 Why should the juice of a peach, appli- 
ed to the palate, aftect the part so diflerently from 
what it does when rubbed upon the palm of the 
hand ? This is a constitution which, so far as ap- 

* See this topic considered in Dr. Balgay's Treatise upon the 
DiTine Benevolence. This excellent author first, I think, pro- 
posed it ; and nearly in the terms in which it it here state'K 
Some other obgeiTatioas also under this head are taken frcm iha; 
treatiie. 



OF THE DEITY, HHb 

pears to me, can be resolved into nothing but the 
pure benevolence of the Creator. Eating is neces- 
sary ; but the pleasure attending it is not necessa- 
ry : and that this pleasure depends, not only upon 
our being in possession of the sense of taste, which 
is different from every other, but upon a particular 
state of the organ in which it resides, a felicitous 
adaptation of the organ to the object, will be con- 
fessed by any one, who may happen to have expe- 
rienced that vitiation of taste which frequently oc- 
curs in fevers, when every taste is irregular, and 
every one bad. 

In mentioning the gratifications of the palate, it 
may be said that we have made choice of a trifling 
example. I am not of that opinion. They afford a 
share of enjoyment to man ; but to brutes, I believe 
that they are of very great importance. A horse 
at liberty passes a great part of his waking hours 
in eating. To the ox, the sheep, the deer, and 
other ruminating animals, the pleasure is doubled. 
Their whole time almost is divided between brows- 
ing upon their pasture and chewing their cud. 
Whatever the pleasure be, it is spread over a large 
portion of their existence. If there be animals, 
such as the lupous fish, which swallow their prey 
whole, and at once, without any time, as it should 
seem, for either drawing out, or relishing, the taste 
in the mouth, is it an improbable conjecture, that 
the seat of taste with them is in the stomach ; or, at 
least, that a sense of pleasure, whether it be taste 
or not, accompanies the dissolution of the food in 
that receptacle, which dissolution in general is car- 
ried on very slowly ? If this opinion be right, they 
are more than repaid for the defect of palate. The 
feast lasts as long as the digestion. 
^ In seeking for argument, we need not stay to in- 
sist upon the comparative importance of our exam- 
ple; for the observation holds equally of all, or of 
three at least, of the other senses. The necessary 
purposes of hearing might have been answered 
without harmony ; of smell, without fragrance; of 
vision, without beauty. Now, "if the Deity had 
been indifferent about our happiness or misery, we 
must impute to our good fortune (as all design by 
this supposition is excluded) both the capacity of 



286 THE GOODNESS 

our senses to receive pleasure; and the supply of 
external objects fitted to excite it." I allege these 
as two felicities, for they are different things, yet 
both necessary : the sense being formed, the objects, 
which were applied to it, might not have suited it , 
the objects being fixed, the sense might not have 
agreed with them. A coincidence is here required, 
which no accident can account for. There are 
three possible suppositions upon the subject, and nd 
more. The first; that the sense, by "^ its original 
constitution, was made to suit the object : the se- 
cond, that the object, by its original constitution, 
was made to suit the sense : the third, that the sense 
is so constituted, as to be able, either universally, 
or within certain limits, by habit and familiarity, 
to render every object pleasant. Whichever of these 
suppositions we adopt, the effect evinces, on the 
part of the Author of nature, a studious benevo- 
lence. If the pleasures which we derive from any 
of our senses, depend upon an original congruity 
between the sense and the properties perceived by 
it, we know by experience, that the adjustment de« 
manded, with respect to the qualities which were 
conferred upon the objects that surround us, not 
only choice and selection, out of a boundless varie- 
ty of possible qualities with which these objects 
might have been endued, but a pro-portioning also of 
degree, because an excess or defect of intensity 
spoils the perception, as much almost as an error 
in the kind and nature of the quality. Likewise the 
degree of dulness or acutenessin the sense itself, is 
no arbitrary thing, but, in order to preserve the 
congruity fiCre spoken of, requires to be in an exact 
or near correspondency with the strength of the 
impression. The dulness of the senses forms the 
complaint of old age. Persons in fevers, and, I be- 
lieve, in most maniacal cases, experience great tor- 
ment from their preternatural acuteness. An in- 
creased, no less than an impaired sensibility, in- 
duces a state of disease and suffering. 

The doctrine of a specific congruity between ani- 
mal senses and their objects, is strongly favoured 
by what is observed of insects in the election of 
their food. Some of these will feed upon one kind 
of plant or animal; and upon no other ; some cater 



OF THE DEITY. 28'/ 

pillars upon the cabbage alone; some upon the 
black currant alone. The species of caterpillar 
which eats the vine; will starve upon the elder ; 
nor will that which we find upon fennel, touch the 
rose-bush. Some insects confine themselves to 
two or three kinds of plants or animals. Some 
again show so strong a preference^ as to afford rea- 
son to believe, that, though they may be driven by 
hunger to others, they are led by the pleasure of 
taste to a few particular plants alone : and all this, 
as it should seem^ independently of habit or imita- 
tion. 

But should we accept the third hypothesis, and 
even carry it so far, as to ascribe every thing which 
concerns the question to habit, (as in certain spe- 
cies, the human species most particularly, there is 
reason to attribute something,) we have then before 
us an animal capacity, not less perhaps to be ad- 
mired than the native congruities which the other 
scheme adopts. It cannot be shown to result from 
any fixed necessity in nature, that what is frequent- 
ly applied to the senses should of course become 
agreeable to them. It is, so far as it subsists, a 
power of accommodation provided in these senses 
by the Author of their structure, and forms a part 
of their perfection. 

In whichever way we regard the senses, they ap- 
pear to be specific gifts, ministering, not only to 
preservation, but to pleasure. But what we usually 
call the sfjiseSf are probably themselves far from 
being the only vehicles of enjoyment, or the whole 
of our constitution which is calculated for the same 
purpose. We have many internal sensations of 
the most agreeable kind, hardly referable to any of 
the five senses. Some physiologists have holden^ 
that all secretion is pleasurable ; and that the com- 
placency which in health, without any external as- 
signable object to excite it, we derive from life it- 
self, is the effect of our secretions going on well 
within us. All this may be true ; but if true, what 
reason can be assigned for it, except the will of the 
Creator ? It may reasonably be asked. Why is any 
thing a pleasure ? and I know no answer which can 
be returned to the question; but that which refers 
it to appointment, 



288 THE GOODNESS 

We can give no account whatever of our plea- 
sures in the simple and original perception ; and, 
even when physical sensations are assumed, we 
can seldom account for them in the secondary and 
complicated shapes, in which they take the name of 
diversions. I never yet met with a sportsman, v.iio 
could tell me in what the sport consisted ; who 
could resolve it into its principle, and state that 
principle. I have been a great follower of fishing 
myself, and in its cheerful solitude have passed 
some of the happiest hours of a sufficiently happy 
life ; but, to this moment, I could never trace out 
the source of the pleasure which it afforded me. 

The '' quantum in rebus inane !'' whether ap- 
plied to our amusements or to our graver pursuits, 
(to which, in truth, it sometimes equally belongs,) 
is always an unjust complaint. If trifles engage, 
and if trifles make us happy, the true reflection 
suggested by the experiment, is upon the tendency 
of nature to gratification and enjoyment ; which is, 
in other words, the goodness of its Author towards 
his sensitive creation. 

Rational natures also, as such, exhibit qualities 
which help to confirm the truth of our position. 
The degree of understanding found in mankind, is 
usually much greater than what is necessary for 
mere preservation. The pleasure of choosing for 
themselves, and of prosecuting the object of their 
choice, should seem to be an original source of en- 
joyment. The pleasures received from things, 
great, beautiful, or new, from imitation, or from tlie 
liberal arts, are, in some measure, not only super- 
added, but unmixed, gratifications, having no pains 
to balance them.* 

I do not know whether our attachment to proper- 
ty be not something more than the mere dictate of 
reason, or even than the mere effect of association. 
Property communicates a charm to whatever is the 
object of it. It is the first of our abstract ideas : it 
cleaves to us the closest and the longest. It endears 
to the child its plaything, to the peasant his cot- 
tage, to the landholder his estate. It supplies the 
place of prospect and scenery. Instead o f coveting 

* Baljiiy on the Divi.ie Benevolence. 



OF THE DEITY. 289 

the beauty of distant situations^ it teaches every 
man to find it in his own. It gives boldness and 
grandeur to plains and fens, tinge and colouring to 
clays and fallows. 

All these considerations come in aid of our 5^- 
cond proposition. The reader will now bear in 
mind what our two propositions were. They were^ 
firstly, that in avast plurality of instances, in which 
contrivance is perceived, the design of the contri- 
vance is beneficial ; secondly, that the Deity has 
added pleasure to animal sensations beyond what 
was necessary for any other purpose ; or when the 
purpose, so far as it was necessary, might have 
been effected by the operation of pain. 

Whilst these propositions can be maintained, we 
are authorized to ascribe to the Deity the character 
of benevolence : and what is benevolence at all, 
must in him be injinite benevolence, by reason of the 
infinite, that is to say, the incalculably great, num- 
ber of objects, upon which it is exercised. 



Of the ORIGIN OF EVIE, uo Universal solution 
has been discovered ; I mean, no solution which 
reaches to all cases of complaint. The most com- 
prehensive is that which arises from the considera* 
tion of general rules. We may, I think, without 
much difficulty, be brought to admit the four follow- 
ing points : first, that important advantages may 
accrue to the universe from the order of nature 
proceeding according to general laws : secondly^ 
that general laws, however well set and constitu° 
ted, often thwart and cross one another : thirdly, 
that from these thwartings and crossings, frequent 
particular inconveniences will arise : and fourthly, 
that it agrees with our observation to suppose, that 
some degree of these inconveniences takes place 
in the works of nature. These points may be al* 
lowed ; and it may also be asserted, that the ge* 
neral laws with which we are acquainted, are di- 
rected to beneficial ends. On the other hand, with 
many of these laws we are not acquainted at all, or 
we are totally unable to trace them in their branch 
es; and in their operation ; the effect of which ig- 
9A 



290 THE GOODx\ESS 

norance is, that they cannot be of importance 10115? 
as measures by wHich to regulate our conduct.. 
The conservation of them may be of importance in 
other respects, or to other beings, but we are un- 
hiformed of their value or use ; uninformed, conse- 
quently, when, and how far, they may or may not 
be suspended, or their effects • furned aside, by a 
presiding and benevolent will, without incurring . 
greater evils than those which would be avoided. 
The consideration, therefore, of general laws, al- 
though it may concern the question of the origin of 
evil very nearly, (which I think it does,) rests in 
views disproportionate to our faculties, and in a 
knowledge which we do not possess. It serves 
rather to account for the obscurity of the subject, 
than to supply us with distinct answers to our diffi- 
culties. However, whilst we assent to the above- 
stated propositions as principles, whatever uncer- 
tainty we may find in the application, we lay a 
ground for believing, that cases of apparent evil, 
for which v:e can suggest no particular reason, 
are governed by reasons, which are more general, 
which lie deeper in the order of second causes, and 
which on that account are removed to a greater 
distance from us. 

The doctrine of iw.'pey^fections, or, as it is called^ 
of evils of imperfection, furnishes an account, found- 
ed, like the former, in views of universal nature. 
The doctrine is briefly this : — It is probable, that 
creation may be better replenished by sensitive be- 
ings of difterent sorts, than by sensitive beings all 
of one sort. It is likewise probable, that it may be 
better replenished by different orders of beings 
rising one above another in gradation, than by be- 
ings possessed of equal degrees of perfection. Now, 
a gradation of such beings, implies a gradation of 
imperfections. No class" can justly complain of 
the imperfections which belong to its place in the 
scale, unless it were allowable for it to complain, 
that a scale of being was appointed in nature ; for 
which appointment there appear to be reasons of 
wisdom and goodness. 

In like manner, fiiiiteness , or what is resolvable 
into finiteness, in inanimate subjects, can never be 
a'iust subject of complaint; because if it wen? ever 



OF THE DEITY» 291 

SO; it would be always so ; we mean, that we can 
never reasonably demand that things should be 
larger or more, when the same demand might be 
made, whatever the quantity or number was. 

And to me it seems, that the sense of mankind 
has so far acquiesced in these reasons, as that we 
seldom complain of evils of this class, when we 
clearly perceive them to be such. What I have to 
add, therefore, is, that we ought not to complain of 
some other evils, which stand upon the same foot 
of vindication as evils of confessed imperfection. 
We never complain, that the globe of our earth is 
too small : nor should we complain, if it were even 
much smaller. But where is the difference to us, 
between a less globe, and part of the present being 
uninhabitable ? The inhabitants of an island may 
be apt enough to murmur at the sterility of some 
parts of it, against its rocks, or sands, or swamps : 
but no one thinks himself authorized to murmur, 
simply because the island is not larger than it is, 
Yet these are the same griefs. 

The above are the two metaphysical answers 
which have been given to this great question. 
They are not the worse for being metaphysical, 
provided they be founded, (which I think they are) 
m right reasoning ; but they are of a nature too 
wide to be brought under our survey, and it is 
often difficult to apply them in the detail. Our 
speculations, therefore, are perhaps better employ- 
ed when they confine themselves within a narrower 
circle. 

The observations which follow, are of this more 
limited, but more determinate, kind. 

Of bodily pain, the principal observation, no 
doubt, is that which we have already made, and al- 
ready dwelt upon, viz. ^' that it is seldom the object 
of contrivance ; that when it is so, the contrivance 
rests ultimately in good." 

To which, however, may be added, that the an- 
nexing of pain to the means of destruction is a sa- 
lutary provision ; inasmuch as it teaches vigilance 
and caution ; both gives notice of danger, and ex* 
cites those endeavours which may be necessary to 
preservation. The evil consequence, which some- 
times arises from the want of that timely intima- 



292 THE GOODNESS 

tion of danger which pain gives, is known to t'iic 
inhabitants of cold countries by the example of 
frost-bitten limbs. I have conversed with patients 
who had lost toes and fingers by this cause. They 
have in general told me, that they were totally un- 
conscious of any local uneasiness at the time. 
Some I have heard declare, that, whilst they were 
about their employment, neither their situation, 
nor the state of the air^vas unpleasant. They felt 
no pain; they suspected no mischief; till, by the 
application of warmth, they discovered, too late, 
the fatal injury which some of their extremities had 
suffered. I say that this shows the use of pain^ 
and that we stand in need of such a monitor. Ibe- 
lieve also that the use extends farther than we sup- 
pose, or can now trace ; that to disagreeable sen- 
sations we, and all animals, owe, or have owed, 
many habits of action which are salutary, but 
\thich are become so familiar, as not easily to be 
referred to their origin. 

Pain also itself is not without \{.^ alleviations. It 
may be violent and frequent ; but it is seldom both 
violent and long-continued : and its pauses and in- 
termissions become positive pleasures. It has the 
power of shedding a satisfaction over intervals of 
ease, which, I believe, few enjoyments exceed. A 
man resting from a fit of the stone or gout, is, for 
the time, in possession of feelings which undisturb- 
ed health cannot impart. They may be dearly 
bought, but still they are to be set against the 
price. And, indeed, it depends upon the duration 
and urgency of the pain, whether they be dearly 
bought or not. I am far from being sure, that a 
man is not a gainer by suffering a moderate inter- 
ruption of bodily ease for a couple of hours out of 
the four-and-twenty. Two very common observa- 
tions favour this opinion : one is, that remissions 
of pain call forth, from those who experience them, 
stronger expressions of satisfaction and of gratitude 
towards both the author and the instruments of 
iheir relief, than are excited by advantages of any 
other kind : the second is, that the spirits of sick 
men do not sink in proportion to the acuteness of 
their sufferings ; but rather appear to be roused 
ind supported, not by pain^ but by the high degree 



OF THE DEITY. 293 

oi' comfort which they derive from its cessation; or 
even its subsidency, whenever that occurs; and 
which they taste with a relish, that diffuses some . 
portion of mental complacency over the whole of 
that mixed state of sensations in which disease has 
placed them. 

In connexion with bodily pain may be considered 
bodily disease, whether painful or not. Few diseases 
are fatal. I have before me the account of a dis- 
pensary in the neighbourhood; which states six 
years' experience as follows : 

Admitted 6420 

Cured . 5476 

Dead 234 

And this I suppose nearly to agree with what other 
similar institutions exhibit. Now, in all these cases, 
some disorder must have been felt, or the patients 
would not have applied for a remedy ; yet we see 
how large a proportion of the maladies which were 
brought forward, have either yielded to proper 
treatment, or, what is more probable, ceased of 
their own accord. We owe these frequent recover- 
ies, and, where recovery does not take place, this 
patience of the human constitution under many of 
the distempers by which it is visited, to two bene- 
factions of onr nature. One is, that she works 
within certain limits ; allows of a certain latitude 
within which health may be preserved, and within 
the confines of which it only suffers a gradual dimi- 
nution. Different quantities of food, different de- 
grees of exercise, different portions of sleep, differ- 
ent states of the atmosphere, are compatible with 
the possession of health. So likewise it is with 
the secretions and excretions, with many internal 
functions of the body, and with the state, probably, 
of most of its internal organs. They may vary con- 
siderably, not only without destroying life, but with- 
out occasioning any high degree of inconveniency 
The other property of our nature, to which we are 
still more beholden, is its constant endeavour to 
restore itself, when disordered, to its regular course. 
The fluids of the body appear to possess a power of 
separating and expelling any noxious substance 



^i THE GOODNESS 

which may have mixed itself with them. This the}- 
do, in eruptive fevers, by a kind of despumation, as 
Sydenham calls it, analogous in some measure to 
the intestine action by which fermenting liquors 
work the yest to the surface. The solids, on their 
part, when their action is obstructed, not only re- 
sume that action, as soon as the obstruction is re- 
moved, but they struggle with the impediment. 
They take an action as near to the true one, as the 
difficulty and the disorganization, with which they ] 
have to contend, will allow of. 

Of mortal diseases, the great use is to reconcile 
us to death. The horror of death proves the value 
of life. But it is in the power of disease to abate, 
or even extinguish, this horror : which it does in a 
wonderful manner, and, oftentimes, by a mild and 
imperceptible gradation. Every man who has been 
placed in a situation to observe it, is surprised with 
the change which has been wrought in himself, 
when he compares the view which he entertains of 
death upon a sick-bed, with the heart-sinking dis- 
may with which he should some time ago have met 
it in health. There is no similitude between the 
sensations of a man led to execution, and the calm 
expiring of a patient at the close of his disease. 
Death to him is only the last of a long train of 
changes ; in his progress through which, it is pos- 
sible that he may experience no shocks or sudden 
transitions. 

Death itself, as a mode of removal and of suc- 
cession, is so connected with the whole order of our 
animal world, that almost every thing in that world 
must be changed, to be able to do without it. It 
may seem likewise impossible to separate the fear 
of death from the enjoyment of life, or the percep- 
tion of that fear from rational natures. Brutes aro! 
in a great measure delivered from all anxiety on, 
this account by the inferiority of their faculties ; or 
rather they seem to be armed with the apprehen* 
sion of death just sufficiently to put them upon the 
means of preservation, and no farther. But would 
a human being wish to purchase this immunity at 
the expense of those mental powers which enable 
him to look forward to the future ? 

Death implies separation : and the loss of those 



OF THE DEITY. 295 

vhom we love, must necessarily, so far as we can 
:onceive, be accompanied with pain. To the brute 
creation, nature seems to have stepped in with 
?ome secret provision for their relief, under the rup- 
ure of their attachment. In their instincts towards 
heir offspring, and of their offspring to them, I 
'lave often been surprised to observe how ardently 
[hey love,' and how soon they forget. _ The perti- 
[lacity of human sorrow (upon which, time also, at 
length, lays its softening hand,) is jDrobably, there- 
fore, in some manner connected with the qualities 
Dfour rational or moral nature. One thing how- 
:'ver is clear, viz. that it is better that we should 
nossess affections, the sources of so many virtues, 
md so many joys, although they be exposed to the 
incidents of hfe, as well as the interruptions of mor- 
lality, than, by the want of them, be reduced to a 
state of selfishness, apathy, and quietism. 

Of other external evils, {still confining ourselves 
to what, are called physical or natural evils) a con- 
siderable part come within the scope of the follow- 
ing observation : — The great principle of human 
satisfaction is engagement. It is a most just dis- 
tinction, which the late Mr. Tucker has dwelt upon 
so largely in his works, between pleasures in which 
we are passive, and pleasures in which we are ac- 
tive. And, I believe, every attentive observer of 
human life will assent to his position, that, however 
grateful the sensations may occasionally be in 
which we are passive, it is not these, but the latter 
class of our pleasures, which constitute satisfac- 
tion ; which supply that regular stream of moderate 
and miscellaneous enjoyments, in which happiness, 
as distinguished from voluptuousness, consists. 
Now for rational occupation, which is, in other 
words, for the very material of contented existence, 
there would be no place left, if either the things 
with which we had to do were absolutely imprac- 
ticable to our endeavours, or if tliey were too obe- 
dient to our uses. A world, furnished with advan- 
tages on one side, and beset with difficulties, wants, 
and inconveniences, on the other, is the proper 
abode of free, rational, and active natures, being 
the fittest to stimulate and exercise their faculties. 
The very refractoriness of the objects they have to 



:.^96 THE GOODNESS 

deal with, contributes to this purpose. A world in 
which nothing depended upon ourselves, however 
it might have suited an imaginary race of beings, 
would not have suited mankind. Their skill, pru- 
dence, industry ; their various arts, and their best 
attainments, from the application of which they 
draw, if not their highest, their most permanent 
gratifications, would be insignificant, if things could 
be either moulded by our volitions, or, of their own 
accord, conform themselves to our views and 
wishes. Now it is in this refractoriness that we 
discern the seed and principle oi physical evil, as 
far as it arises from that which is external to us. 

Civil evils, or the evils of civil life, are mucli 
more easily disposed of, than physical evils ; be- 
cause they are, in truth, of much less magnitude, 
and also because they result, by a kind of necessi- 
ty, not only from the constitution of our nature, but 
from a part of that constitution which no one would 
wish to see altered. The case is this. Mankind will 
in every country breed up to a certain point of dis- 
tress. That point may be different in different 
countries or ages, according to the established 
usages of life in each. It will also shift upon the 
scale, so as to admit of a greater or less number of 
inhabitants, according as the quantity ofprovision, 
which is either produced in the country, or supplied 
to it from other countries, may happen to vary. But 
there must always be such a point, and the species 
will always breed up to it. The order of generation 
proceeds by something like a geometrical progres- 
sion. The increase of provision, under circum- 
stances even the most advantageous, can only as- 
sume the form of an arithmetic series. Whence it 
follows, that the population will always overtake 
the provision, will pass beyond the line of plenty, 
awd will continue to increase till checked by the 
difficulty of procuring subsistence.^ Such difficulty, 
therefore, along with its attendant circumstances, 
must be found in every old country : and these cir- 
cumstances constitute what we call poverty, which, 
nei^essarily, imposes labour, servitude, restraint.^ 

It seems impossible to people a country with in= 

* See a etatement of tbia subject, iaa late treatise on population- 



OF THE DEITY. m 

babitants who shall be all easy in circumstances. 
For suppose the thing to be done, there would be 
such marrying and giving in marriage amongst 
them, as would in a few years change the face of 
affairs entirely : i, e. as would increase the con- 
sumption of those articles, which supplied the na- 
tural or habitual wants of the country, to such a 
degree of scarcity, as must leave the greatest part 
of the inhabitiints unable to procure them without 
toilsome endeavours, or, out of the different kinds 
of these articles, to procure any kind except thai 
which was most easily produced. And this, in fact, 
describes the condition of the mass of the commu- 
nity in all countries ; a condition unavoidably, as 
it should seem, resulting from the provision which 
is made in the human, in common with all animal 
constitutions, for the perpetuity and multiplication 
of the species. 

It need not, however, dishearten any endeavours 
for the public service, to know that population na^ 
turally treads upon the heels of improvement. If 
the condition of a people be meliorated, the conse- 
quence will be either that the mean happiness will 
be increased, or a greater number partake of it ; or, 
which is most likely to happen, that both effects 
will take place together. There may be limits fiX" 
ed by nature to both, but they are limits not yet 
attaine.d, nor even approached, in any country of 
the world. 

And when we speak of limits at all, we have re- 
spect only to provisions for animal wants. There are 
sources, and means, and anxiliaries, and augmen- 
tations, of human happiness, communicable with- 
out restriction of numbers ; as capable of being 
possessed by a thousand persons as by one. Such 
are those, which flow from a mild, contrasted with 
a tyrannic government, whether civil or domestic ; 
those which spring from religion ; those which 
grow out of a sense of security ; those which de- 
pend upon habits of virtue, sobriety, moderation, 
order ; those, lastly, which are found in the pos- 
session of well-directed tastes and desires, com- 
pared with the dominion of tormenting, pernicious, 
contradictory, unsatisfied, and unsatisfiable pas^ 
5iong. 

§5 



•298 THE GOODNESS 

The distinctions of civil life are apt enough f o be 
regarded as evils^ by those who sit under them ; but,, 
in my opinion, witli very little reason. 

In the first place the advantages which the higher 
conditions of life are supposed to confer, bear no 

Proportion in value to the advantages wnich are 
estoAvcd by nature. The gifts of nature always 
surpass the gifts of fortune. How much, for 
example, is activity better than attendance ; 
beauty than dress ; appetite, digestion, and tran^ 
quil bowels, than all the studies of cookery, or 
Inan the most costly compilation of forced or far- 
fetched dainties ! 

Nature has a strong tendency to equalization. 
Habit, the instrument of nature, is a great leveller ; 
the familiarity which it induces, taking off the edge 
l;0th of our pleasures and our sufferings. Indul- 
gences which are habitual, keep us in ease, and can- 
not be carried much farther. So that^ with re- 
spect to the gratifications of which the senses aro 
t^.apable, the difference is by no means proportiona- 
ble to the apparatus. Nay, so far as superfluity 
generates fastidiousness, the difference is on the 
wrong side. 

It is not necessary to contend, that the advan- 
tages derived from wealth are none, (under due re- 
gulations they are certainly considerable,) but that 
ihey are not greater than they ought to be. Money 
is the sweetener of human toil ; the substitute for 
coercion; the reconciler of labour with liberty. It 
is, moreover, the stimulant of enterprise in all pro- 
jects and undertakings, as well as of diligence in 
the most beneficial arts and employments. Now 
did affluence, when possessed, contribute nothing 
to the happiness, or nothing beyond the mere sup- 
ply of necessaries ; and the secret should come to 
be discovered ; we might be in danger of losing 
great part of the uses, which are, at present, de- 
rived to us through this important medium. Not 
only would the tranquillity of social life be put in 
peril by the want of a motive to attach men to their 
private concerns ; but the satisfaction which all 
men receive from success in their respective oc- 
cupations, which collectively constitutes the great 
mass of human comfort, would be done away in 
its very principle. 



OF THE DEITY. 299 

With respect to station, as it is distinguished 
from riches, whether it confer authority over others, 
or be invested with honours which apply solely to 
sentiment and imagination, the truth is, that what 
is gained by rising through the ranks of life, is not 
more than sufficient to draw forth the exertions of 
those who are engaged in the pursuits which lead 
to advancement, and which, in general, are such as 
ought to be encouraged. Distinctions of this sort 
are subjects much more of competition than of en- 
joyment': and in that com.petition their use con- 
sists. It is not, as hath been rightly observed, by 
what the lo7'd mayor feels in his coach, but by what 
the apprentice feels who gazes at him, that the pub- 
lic is served. 

As we approach the summits of human greatness, 
the comparison of good and evil, with respect to 
personal comfort, becomes still more problemati- 
cal ; €ven allowing to ambition all its pleasures. 
The poet asks, ^* What is grandeur, what is pow- 
er ?" The philosopher answers, '' Constraint and 
plague : et in inaxhna qvaque fortuna minimum 
licere." One very common error misleads the opi- 
nion of mankind on this head, viz. tliat, universally, 
authority is pleasant, submission painful. In the 
general course of human aflairs, the very reverse 
of this is nearer to the truth. Command is anxiety, 
obedience ease. 

Artificial distinctions sometimes promote real 
equality. Whether they be hereditary, or be the 
homage paid to office, or the respect attached by- 
public opinion to particular professions, they serve 
to confront that grand unavoidable distinction which 
arises from property, and which is most overbear- 
ing where there is no other. It is of the nature of 
property, not only to be irregularly distributed, 
but to run into large masses. Public laws should 
be so constructed as to favour its diffusion as much 
as they can. But all that can be done by laws, 
consistently with that degree of government of his 
property which ought to be left to the subject, will 
not be sufficient to counteract this tendency. There 
must always therefore be the difference between 
ricli and poor : and this difference will be the more 



300 THE GOODNESS 

grindin**-; when no pretension is allowed to be set 
up against it. 

So that the evils, if evils they must be called, 
v^hich spring either from the necessary subordina- 
tions of civil life, or from the distinctions which 
have, naturally, though not necessarily, grown up 
in most societies, so long as they are unaccompa- 
nied by privileges injurious or oppressive to the 
rest of the community, are such, as may, even by 
the most depressed ranks, be endured with very 
little prejudice to their comfort. 

The mischiefs of which mankind are the occa- 
sion to one another, by their private wickedness 
and cruelties, by tyrannical exercises of power ; by 
rebellions against just authority ; by wars ; by na- 
tional jealousies and competitions operating to the 
destruction of third countries ; or by other instan- 
ces of misconduct either in individuals or societies, 
are all to be resolved into the character of man as 
ixfree agent. Free agency in its very essence con- 
tains liability to abuse. Yet, if you deprive man 
of his free agency, 3^ ou subvert his nature. You 
may have order from him and regularity, as you 
may from the tides or the trade-winds, but you put, 
an end to his moral character, to virtue, to merit, 
to accountableness, to the use indeed of reason. To 
which must be added the observation, that even the 
bad qualities of mankind have an origin in their 
good ones. The case is this : Human passions are 
either necessary to human welfare, or capable of 
being made, ana, in a great majority of instances, 
in fact made, conducive to its happiness. These 
passions are strong and general ; and, perhaps, 
would not answer their purpose unless they were 
so. But strength and g-enerality, when it is expe- 
dient that particular circumstances should be re- 
spected, become, if left to themselves, excess and 
misdirection. From which excess and misdirec- 
tion, the vices of mankind, (the causes, no doubt, 
of much misery) appear to spring. This account, 
whilst it shows us the principle of vice, shows us. 
at the same time, the province of reason and of 
self-government : the want also of every support 
which can be procured to either from the aids of 
religion : and it shows this, without having re- 



OF THE DEITY. 301 

bourse to any native; gratuitous malignity; in the 
human constitution. Mr. Hume, in his posthumous 
dialogues, asserts, indeed, of idleness, or aversion 
to labour, (which he states to lie at the root of a 
considerable part of the evils which mankind suffer,) 
that it is simply and merely bad. But how does 
he distinguish idleness from the love of ease ? or is 
he sure, that the love of ease in individuals is not 
the chief foundation of social tranquillity ? It will 
be found, I believe, to be true, that in every com- 
munity there is a large class of its members, whose 
idleness is the best quality about them, being the 
corrective of other bad ones. If it were possible, 
in every instance, to give a right determination to 
industry, we could never have too much of it. — 
But this is not possible, if men are to be free. 
And without this, nothing would be so dangerous, 
as an incessant, universal, indefatigable activity. 
In the civil world, as well as in the material, it is 
thevis inej'ticB which keeps things in their places. 



Natural Theology has ever been pressed 
with this question : Why, under the regency of a 
supreme and benevolent Will, should there be, in 
the world, so much, as there is-, of the appearance 
oi chance ? 

The question in its whole compass lies beyond 
our reach : but there are not wanting, as in the 
origin of evil, answers which seem to have consi- 
derable weight in particular cases, and also to em- 
brace a considerable number of cases. 

I. There must be chance in the midst of design ; 
by which we mean, that events which are not de- 
signed, necessarily arise from the pursuit of events 
which are designed. One man travelling to York, 
meets another man travelling to London. Their 
meeting is by chance, is accidental, and so would 
be called and reckoned, though the journeys which 
produced the meeting were, both of them, under- 
taken whh design and from deliberation. The 
meeting, though accidental, was nevertheless hypo- 
thetically necessary (which is the onl}^ sort of ne- 
cessity that is intelligible :) for if the two journeys 



302 THE GOODNESS 

\yere commenced at the time, pursued in the direc- 
tion, and with the speed, in which and with which, 
they were in fact begun and performed, the meet- 
ing could not be avoided. There was not, there- 
fore, the less necessity in it for its being chance. 
Again, the rencontre might be most unfortunate, 
though the errands, upon which each party set out 
upon his journey, were the most innocent or the 
most laudable. The bye effect may be unfavoura- 
ble, without impeachment of the proper purpose, 
for the sake of which the train, from the operation 
of which these consequences ensued, was put in 
motion. Although no cause act without a good 

Eurpose ; accidental consequences, like these, may 
e either good or bad. 

II. The appearance of chance will always bear a 
proportion to the ignorance of the observer. The 
cast of a die as regularly follows the laws of mo- 
tion, as the going of a watch ; yet, because we can 
trace the operation of those laws through the works 
and movements of the watch, and cannot trace them 
in the shaking and throwing of the die, (though the 
laws be the same, and prevail equally in both 
cases,) we call the turning up of the number of the 
die chance, the pointing of the index of the watch, 
machinery, order, or by some name which excludes 
chance, li is the same in those events which de- 
pend upon the will of a free and rational agent. 
The verdict of a jury, the sentence of a judge, the 
resolution of an assembly, the issue of a contested 
election, will have more or less of the apjDearance 
of chance, might be more or less the subject of a 
wager, according as we were less or more acquaint- 
ted with the reasons which influenced the delibera- 
tion. The difference resides in the information of 
the observer, and not in the thing itself; which, in 
all tfie cases proposed, proceeds from intelligence, 
from mind, from counsel, from design. 

Now when this one cause of the appearance of 
chance, viz. the ignorance of the observer, comes 
to be applied to the operations of the Deity, it is 
easy to foresee how fruitful it must prove of diffi- 
culties and of seeming confusion. It is only to 
think of the Deity, to perceive what variety of ob- 
jects, what distance of time, what extent of space 



THE GOODNESS 303 

arid action, his counsels may, or rather must, 
comprehend. Can it be wondered at, that, of the 
purposes which dwell in such a mind as this, so 
small a part should be known to us ? It is only 
necessary, therefore, to bear in our thought, that 
in proportion to the inadet^uateness of our informa- 
tion, will be the quantity, m the world, of apparent 
chance. 

Ill, In a great variety of cases, and of cases com- 
prehending numerous subdivisions, it appears, for 
many reasons, to be better that events rise up by 
cJiance, or more properly speaking with the appear- 
ance of chance, than according to any observable 
rule whatever. This is not seldom the case even 
in human arrangements. Each person's place and 
precedency, in a public meeting, may be determin- 
ed by lot. Work and labour may be allotted. Tasks 
and burdens may be allotted: 



-Operumque laborem 



Partibus aequabat justis, aut sorte trahebat. 

Military service and station may be allotted. The 
distribution of provision may be made by lot, as it 
is in a sailor's mess ; in some cases also, the distri- 
bution of favours may be made by lot. In all thesr 
cases, it seems to be acknowledged, that there are 
advantages in permitting events to chance, superi- 
or to those, which would or could arise from regu- 
lation. In all these cases also, though events rise 
up in the way of chance, it is by appointment thai, 
they do so. 

In other events, and such as are independent of 
human will, the reasons for this preference of un- 
certainty to rule, appears to be still stronger. For 
example : it seems to be expedient that the perio«l 
of human life should be uncertain. Did mortality 
follow any fixed rule, it would produce a security 
in those that were at a distance from it, which 
would lead to the greatest disord;3rs ; and a horror 
in those who approached it, similar to that which a 
condemned prisoner feels on the night before his 
execution. But, that death be uncertain, the young 
must sometimes die, as well as the old. Also were 
deaths never sudden, they who are in health would 



304 THE GOODNESS 

be too confident of life. The strong and the active, 
who want most to be warned and checked, would 
live without apprehension or restraint. On the 
other hand, were sudden deaths very frequent, the 
sense of constant jeopardy would interfere too much 
v/ith the degree of ease and enjoyment intended for 
us; and human life be tooprecarious for the busi- 
ness and interests which belong to it. There could 
not be dependance either upon our own lives, or the 
lives of those with whom we were connected, suffi- 
cient to carry on the regular offices of human socie- 
ty. The manner, therefore, in which death is made 
to occur, conduces to the purposes of admonition, 
without overthrowing the necessary stability of hu- 
man affairs. 

Disease being the forerunner of death, there is the 
same reason for its attacks coming upon us under 
the appearance of chance, as there is for uncer- 
tainty in the time of death itself. 

The seaso?is are a mixture of regularity and 
chance. They are regular enough to authorize ex- 
pectation, whilst their being, in a considerable de- 
gree, irregular, induces, on the part of the cultiva- 
tors of the soil, a necessity for personal attendance, 
for activity, vigilance, precaution. It is this neces- 
sity w^hich create? farmers ; which divides the pro- 
fit of the soil between the owner and the occupier ; 
which by requiring expedients, by increasing em- 
ployment, and by rewarding expenditure, promotes 
agricultural arts and agricultural life, of all modes 
of life the best, being the most conducive to health, 
to virtue, to enjoyment. I believe it to be found in 
fact, that where the soil is the most fruitful, and 
the seasons the most constant, there the condition 
of the cultivators of the earth is most depressed. 
Uncertainty, therefore, has its use even to those 
who sometimes complain of it the most. Seasons 
of scarcity themselves are not without their advan- 
tages. They call forth new exertions ; they set 
contrivance and ingenuity at work ; they give birth 
to improvements in agriculture and economy ; they 
promote the investigation and management of pub- 
lic resources. 

Again ; there are strong intelligible reasons, why 
There should exist in human society great disparity 



OF THE DEITY. 305 

oi wealth and station: not only as these things are 
acquired in different degrees, but at the first setting 
out of life. In order, for instance, to answer the 
various demands of civil life, there ought to be 
amongst the members of every civil society a di- 
versity of education, which can only belong to an 
original diversity of circumstances. As this sort 
of disparity, which ought to take place from the be- 
ginning of life, must ex hypothesi, be previous to 
the merit or demerit of the persons upon whom it 
falls, can it be better disposed of than by chance? 
Parerdage is that sort of chance : yet it is the com- 
manding circumstance which in general fixes each 
man's place in civil life, along with every thing 
which appertains to its distinctions. It may be the 
result of a beneficial rule, that the fortunes or ho- 
nours of the father devolve upon the son ; and, as 
it should seem, of a still more necessary rule, that 
the low or laborious condition of the parent be com- 
municated to his family ; but with respect to the suc- 
cessor himself, it is the drawing of a ticket in a lot- 
tery. Inequalities, therefore, of fortune, at least 
the greatest part of them, viz. those which attend 
us from our birth, and depend upon our birth, may 
be left, as they are left, to chance, without any just 
cause for questioning the regency of a supreme Dis- 
j30ser of events. 

But not only the donation, when by the necessity 
of the case they must be gifts, but even the acquira- 
bility of civil advantages, ought, perhaps, in a con- 
siderable degree, to lie at the mercy of chance. 
Some would have all the virtuous rich, or, at least, 
removed from the evils of poverty, without perceiv- 
ing, I suppose, the consequence, that all the poor 
must be wicked. And how such a society could 
be kept in subjection to government, has not 
been shown ; for the poor, that is, they who seek 
their subsistence by constant manual labour, must 
still form the mass of the community ; otherwise the 
necessary labour of life could not be carried on ; 
the work would not be done, which the wants of 
mankind in a state of civilization, and still more in 
a state of refinement, require to be done. 

It appears to be also true, that the exigencies of 
social life call not only for an original diversity of 



306 THE GOODNESS 

external circumstances, but for a mixture of differ 
ent faculties, tastes, and tempers. Activity and con- 
templation, restlessness and quiet, courage and ti- 
midity, ambition and contentedness, not to say even 
indolence and dulness, are wanted in the world, all 
conduce to the well ^oing on of human affairs, just 
as the rudder, the sails, and the biillast, of a ship, 
all perform their part in the navigation. Now, 
since tliese characters require for their foundation 
different original talents, different dispositions, per- 
haps also different bodily constitutions ; and since, 
likewise, it is apparently expedient, that they be 
promiscuously scattered amongst the different class- 
es of society : can the distribution of talents, dis- 
positions, and the constitutions upon which they 
depend, be better made than by chance 7 

The opposites of apparent chance, are constancy 
and sensible interposition ; every degree of sect^et 
direction being consistent with it. Now, of con- 
stancy, or of fixed and known rules, we have seen in 
some cases the inapplicability : and inconveniences 
which we do not see, might attend their application 
in other cases. 

Of 5ew5eZ>Ze interposition, we may be permitted to 
remark, that a Providence, always and certainly 
distinguishable, would be neither more nor less 
than miracles rendered frequent and common. It 
is difficult to judge of the state in^o which this 
would throw us. It is enough to say, that it would 
cast us upon a quite different dispensation from 
that under which we live. It would be a total and 
radical change. And the change would deeply af- 
fect, or perhaps subvert, the whole conduct of liu- 
man affairs. I can readily believe, that, other cir- 
cumstances being adapted to it, such a state might 
be better than our present state. It may be the 
state of other beings ; it may be ours hereafter. 
But the question with which we are now concerned 
is, how far it would be consistent with our condi- 
tion, supposing it in other respects to remain as it 
is ? And in this question there seem to be reasons 
of great moment on the negative side. For in- 
stance : so long as bodily labour continues, on so 
many accounts, to be necessary for the bulk of man- 
kind; any dependency upon supernatural aid, by 



OP THE DEITY. 307 

unfixing those motives which promote exertion, or 
by relaxing those habits which engender patient 
industry, might introduce negligence, inactivity 
and disorder, into the most useful occupations of 
human life ; and thereby deteriorate the condition 
of human life itself. 

As moral agents, we should experience a still 
greater alteration ; of which, more will be said un- 
der the next article. 

Although therefore the Deity, who possesses the 
power of winding and turning, as he pleases, the 
course of causes which issue from himself, do in 
fact interpose to alter or intercept effects, which 
without such interposition would have taken place ; 
yet it is by no means incredible, that his provi- 
dence, which always rests upon final good, may 
have made a reserve with respect to the manifestation 
of his interference, a part of the very plan which 
he has appointed for our terrestrial existence, and 
a part conformable with, or, in some sort, required 
by, other parts of the same plan. It is at any rate 
evident, that a large and ample province remains 
for the exercise of Providence, without its being 
naturally perceptible by us ; because obscurity, 
when applied to the interruption of laws^ bears a 
necessary proportion to the imperfection of our 
knowledge when applied to the laws themselves, 
or rather to the effects which these laws, under 
their various and incalculable combinations, would 
of their own accord produce. And if it be said, 
that the doctrine of Divine Providence, by reason 
of the ambiguity under which its exertions present 
themselves, can be attended with no practical influ- 
ence upon our conduct ; that, although we believe 
ever so firmly that there is a Providence, we must 
prepare, and provide, and act, as if there were 
none : I answer, that this is admitted ; and that 
we farther allege, that so to prepare, and so to pro- 
vide, is consistent with the most perfect assurance 
of the reality of a Providence : and not only so, but 
that it is, probably, one advantage of the present 
Btate of our information, that our provisions and 
preparations are not disturbed by it. Or if it be 
still asked, of what use at all then is the doctrine, 
if it neither alter our measures nor resukue our 



'SOS THE GOODNESS 

conduct ? I answer again, that it is of tiie greatest 
use, but that it is a doctrine of sentiment aiid piety, 
not (immediately at least) of action or conduct ; 
that it applies to the consolation of men's minds, 
to their devotionsj to the excitement of gratitude 
the support of patience, the keeping alive and the 
strengthening of every motive for endeavouring to 
please our Maker ; and that these are great uses. 

Of all views under which human life has ever 
been considered, the most reasonable in my judg- 
ment is that, which regards it as a state of proba- 
tion. If the course of the world was separated 
from the contrivances of nature, I do not know thai 
it would be necessary to look for any other account 
of it, than what, if it may be called an account, is 
contained in the answer, that events rise up by 
chance. But since the contrivances of nature de- 
cidedly evince intention ; and since the course of the 
world and the contrivances of nature have the same j 
author; we are, by the force of this connexion, led 
to believe, that the appearance, under which events 
take place, is reconcilable with the supposition of 
design on the part of the Deity. It is enough that 
they be reconcilable with this supposition ; and it 
is undoubtedly true, that they may be reconcilable, 
though we cannot r-'concile them. The mind, how- 
ever, which contemplates the works of nature, and, 
in those works, sees so much of means directed to 
ends, of beneficial effects brought about by wise ex- 
pedients, of concerted trains of causes, terminating 
in the happiest results ; so much, in a word, of 
counsel, intention, and benevolence ; a mind, I say, 
drawn into the habit of thought which these obser- 
vations excite, can hardly turn its view to the con- 
dition of our own species, without endeavouring to 
suggest to itself some purpose, some design, for 
which the state in which we are placed is fitted, 
and which it is made to serve. Now we assert the 
most probable supposition to be, that it is a state of 
moral probation ; and that many things in it suit 
with this hypothesis, which suit no other. It is 
not a state of unmixed happiness, or of happiness 
simply ; it is not a state of designed miserj^, or of 
rnisery simply : it is not a state of retribution : it 
is not a state of punishment. It suits with none of 



OP THE DEITY, 309 

these suppositions. It accords much better with 
the idea of its being a condition calculated for the 
production^ exercise; and improvement^ of moral 

Dualities, with a view to a future state, in which 
lese qualities, after being so produced, exercised, 
and improved, may, by a new and more favouring 
constitution of things, receive their reward, or be- 
come their own. If it be said, that this is to enter 
upon a religious rather than a philosophical consi- 
deration : I answer that the name of Religion ought 
to form no objection, if it shall turn out to be the 
case, that the more religious our views are, the 
more probability they contain. The degree of be- 
neficence, of benevolent intention, and of power^ 
exercised in the construction of sensitive beings, 
goes strongly in farour, not only of a creative, but 
of a continuing care, that is, of a ruling Providence. 
The degree of chance which appears to prevail in 
the world, requires to be reconciled with this hy- 
pothesis. Now it is one thing to maintain the doc- 
trine of Providence along with that of a future state. 
and another thing without it. In my opinion, the 
two doctrines must stand or fall together. For al' 
though more of this apparent chance may perhaps, 
upon other principles, be accounted for, than is ge- 
nerally supposed, yet a future state alone rectifies 
all disorders : and if it can be shown, that the ap- 
pearance of disorder is consistent with the uses of 
life as 2i preparatory state, or that in some respects 
it promotes these uses, then, so far as this hypo- 
thesis may be accepted, the ground of the difficulty 
is done away. 

In the wide scale of human condition, there is not 
perhaps one of its manifold diversities, which doe? 
not bear upon the design here suggested. Virtue 
is infinitely various. There is no situation in which 
a rational being is placed, from that of the best in- 
structed Christian, down to the condition of the 
rudest barbarian, which affords not room for moral 
agency; for the acquisition, exercise, and display, 
of voluntary qualities, good and bad. Health and 
sickness, enjoyment and suffering, riches and po- 
verty, knowledge and ignorance, power and subjec- 
tion, liberty and bondage, civilization and barbari- 
ty, have all their offices and dutieS; all serve for the 



niO THE GOODNESS 

formation of character : for when we speak of a 
state of trial, it must be remembered, that charac- 
ters are not only tried, or proved, or detected, but 
that they are generated also, and formed, by cir- 
cumstances. The best dispositions may subsist 
under the most depressed, the most afflicted for- 
tunes. A West-Indian slave, who, amidst his 
wrong's, retains his benevolence, I, for my part, 
look upon as amongst the foremost of human can- 
didates for the rewards of virtue. The kind master 
of such a slave, that is, he who, in the exercise of 
an inordinate authority, postpones, in any degree, 
his own interest to his slave's comfort, is likewise 
a meritorious character : but still he is inferior to 
his slave. All however which I contend for, is, 
that these destinies, opposite as they may be in 
every other view, are both trials ; and equally such. 
The observation may be applied to every other con- 
dition ; to the whole range of the scale, not except- 
ing even its lowest extremity. Savages appear to 
tis all alike ; but it is owing to the distance at 
which we view savage life, that we perceive in it 
no discrimination of character. I make no doubt, 
but that moral qualities, both good and bad^ are 
called into action as much, and that they subsist in 
as great variety, in these inartificial societies, as they 
are, or do, in polished life. Certain at least it is, 
that the good and ill treatment which each indivi- 
dual meets with, depends more upon the choice 
and voluntary conduct of those about him, than it 
does or ought to do, under regular civil institutions, 
and the coercion of public laws. So again, to turn 
our eyes to the other end of the scale ; namely, that 
part of it which is occupied by mankind enjoying 
ihe benefits of learning, together with the lights of 
revelation ; there also, the advantage is all along 
probationary. Christianity itself, I mean the reve- 
lation of Christianity, is not only a blessing, but a 
trial. It is one of the diversified means by which 
the character is exercised : and they who require 
of Christianity, that the revelation of it should be 
universal, may possibly be found to require, that 
one species of probation should be adopted, if not 
7.0 the exclusion of others, at least to the narrow 



( 



OF THE DEITY, 3ii 

iv.g of that variety which the wisdom of the Deity 
hath appointed to this part of his moral economj^/ 
Now if this supposition be well founded ; that is,, 
if it be true; that our ultimate, or our most perma« 
nent happiness, will depend, not upon the tempo- 
rary condition into which we are cast, but upon 
our behaviour in it ; then is it a much more fit sub- 
ject of chance than we usually allow or apprehend 
it to be, in what manner tlie variety of external cir- 
cumstances, which subsist in the human world, is 
distributed amongst the Individuals of the species, 
" This life being a state of probation, it is immate- 
rial," says Rousseau, " what kind of trials we ex- 
perience in it, provided they produce their effects." 
Of two agents who stand indifferent to the moral 
Governor of the universe, one may be exercised by 
riches, the other by poverty. The treatment of 
these two shall appear to be very opposite, whilst 
in truth it is the same : for though, in many re- 
spects., there be great disparity between the condi- 
tions assigned, in one main article there may be 
none, viz. in that they are alike trials ; have both 
their duties and temptations, not less arduous or 
less dangerous in one case than the other ; so that 
if the final award follow that character, the original 
distribution of the circumstances under which that 
character is formed, may be defended upon princi- 
ples not only of justice but of equality. What hin- 
ders, therefore, but that mankind may draw lots 
for their condition ? They take their portion of fa- 
culties and opportunities, as any unknown cause, 
or concourse of causes, or as causes acting for other 
purposes, may happen to set them out ; but the 
event is governed by that which depends upon them- 
selves, the application of what they have received. 
In dividing the talents, no rule was observed ; none 
was necessary : in rewarding the use of them, that 

* The reader will (ibserve, that I speak of the revelation of Chris- 
tianity as distinct from Christianity itself. The dispensation may 
already be universal. That part of mankind which never heard of 
Christ's nanae, may nevertheless be redeemed, that is, be placed in a 
better condition, with respect to their future state, by his interven- 
tion : may be the objects of his benig'nity and intercession, as well as 
of the propitiatory virtue of bis passion. But this is not '* natural 
theology ;" therefore I will not dwell lonjjer upon it. 



312 THE GOODNESS 

of the most correct justice. The chief difference at 
last appears to be, that the right use of more talents, 
i. e. of a greater trust, will be more highly reward- 
ed, than the right use of fewer talents, i. e. of a less 
trust. And since, for other purposes, it is expedi- 
ent that there be an inequality of concredited talents 
here, as well, probably, as an inequality of condi- 
tions hereafter, tliou^li all remuneratory ; can any 
rule, adapted to that Inequality, be more agreeable. 
even to our apprehensions of distributive justice, 
than this is ? 

We have said, that the appearance of casualty, 
which attends the occurrences and events of life, 
not only does not interfere with its uses, as a state 
of proba.tion, but that it promotes these uses. 

Passive virtues, of all others the severest and the 
most sublime ; of all others, perhaps, the most ac- 
ceptable to the Deity ; would, it is evident, be ex- 
cluded from a constitution, in which happiness and 
misery regularly followed virtue and vice. Patience 
and composure under distress, affliction, and pain ; 
a steadfast keeping up of our confidence in God, 
and of our reliance upon his final goodness, at the 
time when every thing present is adverse and dis- 
couraging, and (what is no less difficult to retain) 
a cordial desire for the happiness of others, even 
when we are deprived of our own : these disposi- 
tions, which constitute, perhaps, the perfection of 
our moral nature, would not have found their pro- 
per office and object in a state of avowed retribu- 
tion ; and in which, consequently, endurance of 
evil would be only submission to punishment. 

Again : one man's sufferings may be another 
man's trial. The family of a sick parent is a school 
of filial piety. The charities of domestic life, and 
not only these, but all the social virtues, are called 
out by distress. But then, misery, to be the proper 
object of mitigation, or of that benevolence which 
endeavours to relieve, must be really or apparently 
casual. It is upon such sufferings alone that be- 
nevolence can operate. For were there no evils in 
the world but what were punishments, properly and 
intelligibly such, benevolence would only stand in 
the way of justice. Such evils, consistently with 
the administratioii of moral government, could not 



OF THE DEITY. 31S 

be prevented or alleviated : that is to say, could not 
be remitted in whole or in part, except by the au- 
thority which inflicted them, or by an appellate or 
superior authority. This consideration, which is 
founded in our most acknowledged apprehensions 
of the nature of penal justice, may possess its 
weight in the divine counsels. Virtue, perhaps, is 
the greatest of all ends. In human beings, relative 
virtues form a large part of the whole. Now rela- 
tive virtue presupposes, not only the existence of 
evil, without which it could have no object, no ma- 
terial, to work upon, but that evils be, apparently 
at least, misfortunes ; that is, the effects of apparent 
chance. It may be in pursuance, therefore, and in 
furtherance of the same scheme of probation, that 
the evils of life are made so to present themselves. 

I have already observed, that when we let in re- 
iigious considerations, we often let in light upon 
the difficulties of nature. So in the fact now to be 
accounted for, the degree of happiness, which we 
usually enjoy in this life, mtiy be better suited to a 
stELte of trial and probation, than a greater degree 
would be. The truth is, we are rather too much 
delighted with the world, than too little. Imper- 
fect, broken, and precarious, as our pleasures are, 
they are much more than sufficient to attach us to 
the eager pursuit of them. A regard to a future 
state can hardly keep its place as it is. If we were 
designed, therefore, to be influenced by that regard, 
might not a more indulgent system, a higher, or 
more uninterrupted state of gratification, have in- 
terfered with the design ! At least it seems expe- 
dient, that mankind should be susceptible of this 
influence, when presented to them : that the condi- 
tion of the world should not be such, as to exclude 
its operation, or even to weaken it more than it does. 
In a religious view, (however we may complain of 
them in every other,) privation, disappointment, 
and satiety, are not without the most salutary tend- 
encies- 

26 



614 CONCLUSION 

CHAP. XXVIL 

Conclusion. 

In allcaseS; wherein the mind feels itseh^in dan- 
ger of being confounded by variety, it is sure to rest 
upon a few strong points, or perhaps upon a single 
instance. Amongst a multitude of proofs it is one 
that does the business. If we observe in any argu- 
ment, that hardly two minds fix upon the same in- 
stance, the diversity of choice shows the strength 
of the argument, because it shows the number and 
competition of the examples. There is no subject 
in which the tendency to dwell upon select or sin- 
gle topics is so usual, because there is no subject, 
of which, in its full extent, the latitude is so great, 
as that of natural history applied to the proof of 
an intelligent Creator. For my part, I take my 
stand in human anatomy ; and the examples of me- 
chanism I should be apt to draw out from the copi- 
ous catalogue which it supplies, are the pivot upon 
which the head turns, the ligament within the 
socket of the hip-joint, the pulley or trochlear mus- 
cles of the eye, the epiglottis, the bandages which 
tie down the tendons of the wrist and instep, thn 
slit or perforated muscles at the hands and feet, the 
knitting of the intestines to the mesentery, the 
course of the chyle into the blood, and the consti- 
tution of the sexes as extended throughout the whole 
of the animal creation. To these instances, the 
reader's memory will go back, as they are severally 
set forth in their places ; there is not one of the 
number which I do not think decisive ; not one 
which is not strictly mechanical ; nor have I read 
or heard of any solution of these appearances, 
which, in tlie smallest degree, shakes the conclu- 
sion that we build upon them. 

But, of the greatest part of those, who, either iu 
this book or any other, read arguments to prove th(] 
existence of a God, it will be said, that they leave 
off* only where tliey began ; that they were never 
ignorant of this great Iruth, never doubted of it ; 
that it does not therefore appear, what is gained by 
researches from which no new opinion is learnr. 
and upon the subject of wliichno proofs were want- 



CONCLUSION. 315 

..u. Now I answer that, by investigation ^ the fol- 
lowing points are always gained, in favour of doc- 
trines even the most generally acknowledged, (sup- 
posing them to be true,) viz. stability and impres- 
sion. Occasions will arise to try the firmness of 
our most habitual opinions. And upon these occa- 
sions, it is a matter of incalculable use to feel our 
foundation ; to find a support in argument for what 
we had taken up upon authority. In the present 
case, the arguments upon which the conclusion 
rests, are exactly such, as a truth of universal con- 
cern ought to rest upon. ^^ They are sufficiently 
open to the views and capacities of the unlearned 
at the same time that they acquire new strengtli 
and lustre from the discoveries of the learned.'^ It 
they had been altogether abstruse and recondite; 
they would not have found their way to the under- 
standings of the mass of mankind ; if they had been 
merely popular, they might have wanted solidity. 

But, secondly, what is gained by research in the 
stability of our conclusion, is also gained from it 
in impression. Physicians tell us, that there is a 
great difference between taking a medicine and the 
medicine getting into the constitution, A differ- 
ence not unlike which, obtains with respect to 
those great moral propositions, which ought to 
form the directing principles of human conduct. 
It is one thing to assent to a proposition of this? 
sort ; another, and a very different thing, to have 
properly imbibed its influence. I take the case to 
be this : perhaps almost every man living has a 
particular train of thought, into which his mind 
glides and falls, when at leisure from the impres- 
sions and ideas that occasionally excite it ; per- 
haps, also, the train of thought here spoken of^, 
more than any other thing determines the character. 
It is of the utmost consequence, therefore, that this 
propeity of our constitution be well regulated. 
Now it is by frequent or continued meditation upon 
a subject, by placing a subject in different points 
of view, by induction of particulars, by variety of 
examples, by applying principles to the solution of 
phenomena, by dwelling upon proofs and conse- 
quences, that mental exercise is drawn into any 
particular channel. It is by these means, at leasV 



316 CONCLUSION. 

that we have any power over it. The train of 
spontaneous thought, and the choice of that train, 
may be directed to diflerent ends, and may appear 
to be more or less judiciously fixed, according to 
the purpose, in respect of which we consider it ; 
but, in a moj-al vieiv, I shall not, I believe, be con- 
tradicted when I say, that if one train of thinking 
be more desirable than another, it is that which i e- 
gards the phenomena of nature with a constant 
reference to a supreme intelligent Author. To 
have made this the ruling, the habitual sentiment 
of our minds, is to have laid the foundation of every 
thing which is religious. The world thenceforth 
becomes a temple, and life itself one continued act 
of adoration. The change is no less than this 
that, whereas formerly God was seldom in our 
thoughts, we can now scarcely look upon any 
thing without perceiving its relation to him. Every 
organized natural body, in the provisions which it 
contains for its sustentation and propagation, testi- 
fies a care, on the part of the Creator, expressly 
directed to these purposes. We axe on all sides 
surrounded by such bodies ; exammed in their 
parts, wonderfully curious ; compared with one 
another, no less wonderfully diversified. So that 
the mind, as well as the eye, may either expatiate 
In variety and multitude, or fix itself down to the 
investigation of particular divisions of the science. 
And in eitlier case it will rise up from its occupa- 
tion, possessed by the subject, in a very different 
manner, and with a very different degree of influ^ 
ence, from what a mere assent to any verbal pro- 
position which can be formed concerning the ex- 
istence of the Deity, at least that merely comply- 
ing assent with which those about us are satisfied, 
^nd with which we are too apt to satisfy ourselves. 
will or can produce upon the thoughts. More 
especially may this difference be perceived, in the 
degree of admiration and of awe, with which the 
Divinity is regarded, when represented to the un- 
derstanding by its own remarks, its own reflections, 
.ind its own reasonings, compared with what is 
«^xcited by any language that can be used by others. 
The works of nature want only to be contemplated. 
When contemplated,, ihey have every thing iu 



CONCLUSION. 317 

them which can astonish by their greatness ; for, 
of the vast scale of operation through whicli our 
discoveries carry us, at one end we see an intelU- 
eent Power arranging planetary systems, fixing, 
for instance, the trajectory of Saturn, or construct- 
ing a ring of two hundred thousand miles diameter, 
to surround his body, and be suspended like a mag- 
nificent arch over the heads of his inhabitants ; 
and, at the other, bending a hooked tooth, concert- 
ing and providing an appropriate mechanism, for 
the clasping and reclasping of the filaments of the 
feather of the humming-bird. We have proof, not 
only of both these works proceeding from an intel- 
ligent agent, but of their proceeding from the same 
agent ; for, in the first place, we can trace an iden- 
tity of plan, a connexion of system, from Saturn 
to our own globe : and when arrived upon our 
globe, we can, in the second place, pursue the con- 
nexion^th rough all the organized, especially the an- 
imated* bodies which it supports. We can observe 
marks of a common relation, as well to one ano- 
ther, as to the elements of which their habitation 
is composed. Therefore one mind hath planned, 
or at least hath prescribed, a general plan for all 
these productions. One Being hath been concern- 
ed in all. 

Under this stupendous being we live. Our hap- 
piness, our existence is in his hands. All we ex- 
pect must come from him. Nor ought we to feel 
our situation insecure. In every nature, and in 
every portion of nature, which we can descry, we 
find attention bestowed upon even the minutest 
parts. The hinges in the wings of an earwig, and 
the joints of its antennae, are as highly wrought, as 
if the Creator had nothing else to finish. We see 
no signs of diminution of care by multiplicity of ob- 

i'ects, or of distraction of thought by variety. We 
lave no reason to fear, therefore, our being forgot- 
ten, or overlooked, or neglected. 

The existence and character of the Deity, is, in 
every view, the most interesting of all human spe- 
culations. In none, however, is it more so, than as 
it facilitates the belief of the fundamental articles 
of Revelatmn. It is a step to have it proved, that 
there must be something in the world more tlian 



318 CONCLUSION. 

what we see. It is a farther step to know, that, 
amongst the invisible things of nature, there must 
be an intelhgent mind, concerned in its production, 
order, and support. These points being assured to 
us by Natural Theology, we may well leave to Re- 
velation the disclosure of many particulars, which 
our researches cannot reach, respecting either the 
nature of this Being, as the original cause of all 
things, or his character and designs as a moral go- 
vernor ; and not only so, but the more full con- 
firmation of other particulars, of which, though 
they do not lie altogether beyond our reasonings 
and our probabilities, the certainty is by no means 
equal to the importance. The true theist will be 
the first to listen to any credible communication of 
Divine knowledge. Nothing which he has learnt 
from Natural Theology, will diminish his desire of 
farther instruction, or his disposition to receive it 
with humility and thankfulness. He wishes for 
light : he rejoices in light. His inward veneration 
of this great Being will incline him to attend with 
the utmost seriousness, not only to all that can be 
discovered concerning him by researches into na- 
ture, but to all that is tauo;ht by a revelation, which 
gives reasonable proof of having proceeded from 
him. 

But, above every other article of revealed reli- 
gion, does the anterior belief of a Deity bear with 
the strongest force upon that grand point, which 
gives indeed interest and importance to all the 
rest, — the resurrection of the human dead. The 
thing might appear hopeless, did we not see a pow- 
er at work, adequate to the effect, a power under 
the guidance of an intelligent will, and a power pe- 
netrating the inmost recesses of all substance. I 
am far from justifying the opinion of those, who 
^^ thought it a thing incredible, that God should 
raise the dead :'' but I admit, that it is first neces- 
sary to be persuaded that there is a God, to do so. 
This being thoroughly settled in our minds, there 
vseems to be nothing in this process (concealed as 
we confess it to be) which need to shock our belief. 
They who have taken up the opinion that the acts 
of the human mind depend upon organization, that 
the mind itself indeed consists in organization, are 



COxNCLUSION, 319 

supposed to find a greater difficulty than others do, 
in admitting a transition by death to a new state of 
sentient existence, because the old organization is 
apparently dissolved. But I do not see that.any im- 
practicability need be apprehended even by these ; 
or that the change, even upon their hypothesis, is 
far removed from the analogy of some other opera- 
tions, which we know with certainty that the Deity 
is carrying on. In the ordinary derivation of plants 
and animals, from one another, a particle, in many 
cases, minuter than all assignable, all conceivable 
dimension ; an aura, an effluvium, an infinitesimal ; 
determines the organization of a future body : does 
no less than fix, whether that which is about to be 
produced, shall be a vegetable, a merely sentient, 
or a rational being; an oak, a frog, or a philoso- 
pher ; makes all these differences ; gives to the fu- 
ture body its qualities, and nature, and species, 
And this particle, from which springs, and by which 
is determined, a whole future nature, itself pro- 
ceeds from, and owes its constitution to, a priot' 
body : nevertheless, which is seen in plants most 
decisively, the incepted organization, though form- 
ed within, and through, and by, a preceding or- 
ganization, is not corrupted by its corruption, or 
destroyed by its dissolution ; but, on the contrnry. 
is sometimes extricated and developed by those 
very causes ; survives and comes into action, when 
the purpose, for which it was prepared, requires its 
use. Now an economy which nature has adopted, 
when the purpose was to transfer an organization 
from one individual to another, may have some- 
thing analogous to it, when the purpose is to trans- 
mit an organization from one state of being to ano- 
ther state : and they who found thought in organi- 
zation, may see something in this analogy applica- 
ble to their difficulties; for, whatever can transmit 
a similarity of organization will answer their pur- 
pose, because, according even to their own theory, 
It may be the vehicle of consciousness; and be- 
cause consciousness carries identity and individu- 
alit}^ along with it through all changes of form or 
of visible qualities. In the most general case, that, 
as we have said, of the derivation of plants and ani- 
uials from one another, the latent organization is 



3-20 CONCLUSION. 

either itself similar to the old organization, or has 
rhe power of communicating to new matter the old 
organic form. But it is not restricted to this rule. 
There are other cases, especially in the progress 
of insect life, in which the dormant organization 
does not much resemble that which encloses it, and 
still less suits with the situation in which the en- 
closing body is placed, but suits with a different 
situation to which it is destined. In the larva of 
the libellula, which lives constantly, and has still 
long to live under water, are descried the wings of 
a fly, which two years afterward is to mount into 
the air. Is there nothing in this analogy ? It serves 
at least to show, that even in the observable course 
of nature, organizations are formed one beneath an- 
other : and, amongst a thousand other instances, it 
shows completely, that the Deity can mould and 
fashion the parts of material nature, so as to ful- 
fil any purpose whatever which he is pleased to 
appoint. 

They who refer the operations of mind to a sub- 
stance totally and essentially different from matter 
(as most certainly these operations, though effected 
by material causes, hold very little affinity to any 
properties of matter with which we are acquainted) 
adopt perhaps a juster reasoning and a better phi- 
losophy : and by these the considerations above 
suggested are not wanted, at least in the same de- 
cree. But to such as find, which some persons do 
hnd, an insuperable difficulty in shaking off an ad- 
herence to those analogies, which the corporeal 
world is continually suggesting to their thoughts ; 
to such, I say, every consideration will be a relief, 
which manifests the extent of that intelligent pow- 
er which is acting in nature, the fruitfiilness of its 
resources, the variety, and aptness, and success of 
its means ; most especially every consideration, 
which tends to show that, in the translation of a 
conscious existence, there is not, even in their own i 
way of regarding it, any thing greatly beyond, or 
totally unlike, what takes place in such parts (pro- 
bably small parts) of the order of nature, as are ac- 
cessible to our observation. 

- Again ; if there be those who think, that the con- 
tractedness and debility of the human faculties in 



CONCLUSION, 321 

our present state, seem ill to accord with the hi^h 
destinies which the expectations of religion point 
out to us ; I would only ask them, whether any 
one, who saw a child two hours after its birth, 
could suppose that it would ever come to under- 
stand ^/mo/z^;* or who tl*en shall say, what far 
ther amplification of intellectual powers; what ac- 
cession of knowledge, what advance and improve- 
ment, the rational faculty, be its constitution what 
it will, may not admit of, when placed amidst new 
• objects, and endowed with a sensorium adapted, as 
it undoubtedly will be, and as our present sense? 
are, to the perception of those substances, and oi 
those properties of things, with which our concerr. 
may lie. 

Upon the whole ; in every thin^ which respect? 
this awful, but, as we trust,, glorious change, we 
have a wise and powerful Being (the author, in na- 
ture;, of infinitely various expedients for infinitely 
various ends) upon whom to rely for the choice and 
appointment of means adequate to the execution ot 
nny plan which his goodness or his justice maj 
have formed for the moral and accountable part o- 
his terrestrial creation. That great office rests 
with him ; be it ours to hope and to prepare, undei 
■ a firm and settled persuasion, that, living and dy- 
ing, we are his ; that life is passed in his constant 
presence, that death resigns us. to his merciful dis 
posal. 

* S«p Search's lA^ht of -N.Mnr'^. 



A DEFENCE 



F THE CONSIDERATIONS ON THE PROPRIETY 
OF REQ,UIRING A SUBSCRIPTION TO ARTICLES 
OF FAITH, IN REPLY TO A LATE ANSWEK 
FROM THE CLARENDON PRESS. 



The fair way of conducting a dispute, is to exhi- 
bit one by one the arguments of your opponent, and 
with each argument, the precise and specific an- 
swer you are able to give it. If this method be not 
-so common, nor found so convenient, as might bo 
expected, the reason is, because it suits not always 
v/ith the designs of a writer, which are no more per- 
. haps than to make a book : to confound some argu- 
ments, and to keep others out of sight ; to leavr 
what is called an impression upon the reader 
without any care to inform him of the proofs or 
principles by which his opinion should be govern- 
ed. With such views it may be consistent to de- 
spatch objections,by observing of some " that they 
are old," and therefore, like certain drugs, have 
lost, we may suppose, their strength ; of others. 
that/' they have long since received an answer;'" 
which implies, to be sure, a confutation : to attack 
straggling remarks, and decline the main reason- 
ing, as '*' mere declamation ;'' to pass by one pas- 
sage because it is '^ long-winded," another because 
the ansvi^erer ^' has neither leisure nor inclination 
to enter into the discussion of it;" to produce ex- 
tracts and ^quotations, which taken alone, imper- 
fectly, if at*all, express their author's meaning ; to 
dismiss a stubborn difficulty with a '^ reference,'' 
which ten to one the reader never looks at ; and, 
lastly, in order to give the whole a certain fashion- 
able air of candour and moderation to make a con- 
cession* or two which nobody thanks him for, or 

*^ Such aa, that "if people keep their opinions to themselves, no 
«ia» wiU liiirt them, " and the like. Answer, p. 45. 



OF SUBSCRIPTION, &c, 32;^ 

yield up a few points which it is no longer any cre- 
dit to maintain. 

How far the writer witli whom we ha.ve to do is 
concerned in this description, his readers will 
^jud^e ; he shall receive, however, from us, that 
justice which he has not shown the author of the 
^'Considerations," to have his arguments fully and 
distinctly stated and examined. 

After complaining, as is usual on these occasions, 
of disappointment and dissatisfaction ; the answerer 
sets out with an argument which comprises, we art 
told, in a " narrow compass," the wnole merits ot 
the question betwixt us ; and which is neither more 
nor less than this, that ^' it is necessary that those 
who are to be ordained teachers in the church 
should be sound in the faith, and consequently that 
they should give to those who ordain them some 
proof and assurance that they are so, and that the 
method of this proof should be settled by public au 
thority." Now the perfection of this sort of rea- 
soning is, that it comes as well from the mouth of 
the pope's professor of divinity in the university of 
Bologna, as from the Clarendon press. A church 
lias only, with our author, to call her creed the 
'•' faithful word," and it follows from Scripture that 
'' we must hold it fast." Her dissatisfied sons, lei 
her only denominate as he does,* " vain talkers 
and deceivers," and St. Paul himself commands u.s 
to '' stop their mouths." Every one that questions 
or opposes her decisions she pronounces, with hini^ 
a heretic ; and '' a man that is a heretic, after the 
first and second admonition, reject." In like man- 
ner, calling her tenets '' sound doctrine," or ta- 
king it for granted that they are so, (which the con- 
clave at Rome can do as well as the convocation at 
London,) and " soundness in the faith being a ne- 
cessary cjualification in a Christian teacher," there 
is no avoiding the conclusion, that every *' Christian 
teacher" (in, and out of the church too, if you can 
catch him, ^' soundness in the faith" being alike 
'' necessary" in all) must have these tenets strap- 
ped about his neck by oaths and subscriptions. Aji 

^ * Page 13. 



3:24 OF SUBSCRIPTION 

arg^ument which thus fights in any cause, or en ei- 
ther side, deserves no quarter. I have said, that 
this reasoning, and these applications of Scripture, 
are equally competent to the defenders of popery — 
they are more so. The popes, when they assumed 
the power of the af)ostles, laid claim also to their 
infallibility ; and in this they were consistent. — 
Protestant churches renounce with all their might 
this infallibility, whilst they apply to themselves 
every expression that describes it, and will not part 
with a jot of the authority which is built upon it. — 
But to return to the terms of the argument. '' Is 
it necessary that a Christian teacher should be 
?ound in the faith ?'' 

1. Not in nine instances out of ten to which the 
test is now extended. Nor, 

2. If it were, is this the way to make him so ; 
there being as little probability that the determina- 
tion of a set of men whose good fortune had ad- 
vanced them to high stations in the church should 
be right, as the conclusions of private inquirers. 
Nor, 

3. Were they actually right, is it possible to con- 
ceive how they can, upon this author's principles, 
produce the effect contended for, since *' we set 
them not up as a rule of faith ;*■* since ^' they do 
not decide matters for us, nor bind them upon us ;'* 
since " they tie no man up from altering his opi- 
nion.'' are '^ no ways inconsistent with the right of 
private judgment,'' are, in a word, of no more au- 
thority than an old sermon ; nor, consequently. 
much more effectual, eitlier for the producing or 
securing of *' soundness in the faith.*' 

The answerer, not trusting altogether to the 
>»trength of his '^ argument,*' endeavours next to 
avail himself of a •* concession'' which he has gain- 
ed, ill- imagines, from his adversary, and which he 
is pleased to look upon " as in a manner giving up 
The main point."' Our business, therefore, will be 
to show what this concession, as he calls it, amounts 
to, and wherein it difi'ers from the '* main point," 
the requisition of subscription to established for- 

* Pages IC, il. 13. ?°^ 



TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 325 

mularies. It is objected to the Articles of the 
church of England^ that they are at variance with 
the actual opinions both of the governors and mem- 
bers of that church ; so much so, that the men who 
most faithfully and explicitly maintain these Arti- 
cleS; get persecuted for their singularity, excluded 
from orders, driven from universities, and are com- 
pelled to preach the established religion in fields 
and conventicles. Now this objection, which must 
cleave to every Jixed formulary, might, we con- 
ceive, be removed, if a test was substituted, sup- 
posing any test to be insisted upon, which could 
adapt itself to the opinions, and keep pace with the 
improvements, of each succeeding age. This, in 
some measure, would be the case, if the governors 
of the church for the time being, were authorized 
to receive from candidates for orders declarations 
of their religious principles in their own words, and 
allowed, at their discretion, to admit them into the 
ministry. Bishops being taken out of the lump of 
the community, will generally be of the same lea- 
ven, and partake both of the opinions and modera- 
tion of the times they live in. This is the most that 
can be made of the concession ; and how this gives 
up the ^' main point,'^ or indeed any thing, it is 
not easy to discover. 

*The next paragraph of the Answer attacks the 
account which the Considerations have given of the 
^^ rise" and " progress" of the custom in question ; 
" the reverse of which," the answerer tells us, '* is 
the truth," and by way of proof gives his own ac- 
count of the matter, which, so far from being the 
^^ reverse," is in effect, or very nearly, the same. 

The reader shall see the two accounts side by 
side, and is desired to judge whether the author of 
the Considerations, so far from being confuted iu 
this point, is even contradicted. 

" The Protestants, aware how " j4s some who set up for re- 
greatly they were misrepresented formers had broached many erro- 
•aud abused, began to think it ne- neousand pestilent doetrines ; t}u 
cessary to repel the various calum- Lutherans first, and, after tbeii 
nies that had been cast upon them, example, other protestant church- 
by setting forth some public Con- es, thought fit to draw up Confes 
stitutions or Confessions, as a de- sions of Faith. And this they 
claration of their faith and wor- did pait'y to acquit themselves (-i 



306 OF SUBSCRIPTION 

ship. And to make such declara- the scandal of abetting wild and 

tion still more authentic, they seditious enthusiasts, and declar- 

likewise engaged themselves in a irg what were their real doc- 

rautual bond of conformity to all trices ; partly" (observe how ten- 

these constitutions." Consider- derly this is introduced) "to pre- 

;itions, page 6. vent such enthusiasts on the one 

hand, and popish emissaries on the 

other, from intruding themselves 

into the ministry." A Bwer 

pages 6, 7, 

r^ow, were the ^^ origin" of a custom of more con- 
sequence than it is to a question concerning the 
'• propriety" of it, can any one doubt who credits 
even the answerer's own account, but that the mo- 
tive assigned in the Considerations both did exist, 
and was the principal motive ? There is one ac- 
count, indeed, of the " origin" of this custom, 
which, were it true, would directly concern the 
question. '• This practice," our author tells us in 
another part of his Answer,* ^^ is said to be derived 
from the apostles themselves." I care not what 
'•' is said." It is impossible that the practice com- 
plained of, the imposition of articles of faith by 
*• fallible" men, could originate from the ^' apostles," 
who, under the direction by which they acted, 
were infallible."! 

* Page 19. 

f H'>w a creed is to be made, as the Considerations recommend, 
in which all parties shall agree, our author cannot understand. I 
will tell him how ; by adhering to Scripture terms : and this will 
suit the best idea of a Creed, (a summary or compendium of a larger 
volume,) and the only fair purpose of one, instruction. 

It is observed in the considerations, that the multiplicity of the 
propositions contained in the 29 Articles is alone sufficient to show 
the impossibility of that consent which the Church supposes and re- 
quires. Now, what would any man guess is the answer to this I 
Why, " that there are no less than three propositions in the very 
first verse of St. John's Gospel." Had there been "three thousand" 
it would have been nothing to the purpose : where pr opositions are 
received upon the authority of the proposer, it matters not how many 
of them there are ; the doubt is not increased with the number ; the 
same reason which establishes one, establishes all. But is this the 
case with a system of propositions which derives do evidence from 
the proposer ? which must each stand upon its own separate and in- 
trinsic proof 1 We thought it necessary to oppose note to note in 
the plac» in which we found it ; though neither here nor in the A 
i?ver is it mncb connected with the text. 






TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 32 

But this practice, from whatever " root of bitter 
tiess'' it sprung, has been one of the chiof causes, 
we assert, of the divisions and distresses which we 
read of in ecclesiastical history. The matter of 
fact our author does not, because he cannot, deny 
He father chooses to insinuate that ^^ such divisiout: 
and disturbances were not owing to the governor? 
of the church, but to the perverse disputings ol 
heretics and schismatics.'' He must know thai 
there is oppression as well as resistance, jTovoca- 
tion as well as resentment, abuse of power as welt 
as opposition to it : and it is too much to take fov 
granted, without one syllable of proof, that those 
in possession of power have been always in th^ 
rignt, and those who withstood them in the wrong. 
*' Divisions" and " disturbances" have in fact, and 
in all ages, arisen on this account, and it is a poor 
shift to say, because it may always be said, that 
such only are chargeable with these mischiefs as 
refused to submit to whatever their superiors though 1 
proper to impose.* 

Nor is it much better when he tells us, " that 
these subtilties of metaphysical debate, which we 
complain of in our Articles, were introduced by the 
several heretics of those times ;" especially as it is 
evident that, whoever first introduced, it is tlie, 
governors of the church who still continue them. 

But our author cannot conceive what all this, us; 
relating to ''creeds" only and '' confessions," tc 
rhe '' terms of communion" rather than of admi^ 
sion into the ministry, is to the purpose. Will 1h 
then give up '' creeds" and '' confessions ?" or wil. 
his church thank hiin for it if he does ? a churcl 
which, by transfusing the substance of her article's 
into the form of her«if)ublic worship, has in effec! 

■* Tbe following sentiment of our author is too curious to be omit- 
ted '. " Possibly too he (the author of the Considerations) may think 
that insurrections and rebellions in the state are not owing to tin 
uuruliness of factious subjects, but to king^s and rulers ; but mo>' 
, reasonable men, I believe, will think otherwise."— —A comm^ i 
reader may think this observation of the answerer a little besii; 
the question. But the answerer may say, with Cicero and I); 
King, " SuBcepto negotio, majus mibi q'liddam proposui, in <]iio 
«ieam in Rempnblicam voluntatem populus perspicere posset. ■"■ • 
Motto to Dr. K.V: Oration i» 17-1'J. 



■m OF SUBSCRIPTION 

inade the ^' terms of communion" and of admissioi; 
Into the ministry the same. This question, like 
every other; however naked you may strip it by ab- 
straction, must always be considered with a refer- 
ence to the practice you wish to reform. 

The author of the Considerations contends very 
properly, that it is one of the first duties a Christian 
owes to his Master *' to keep his mind open and un- 
biassed*' in religious inquiries. Can a man be said 
to do this, who must bring himself to assent to 
opinions proposed by another ? who enters into a 
profession where both his subsistence and success 
depend upon his continuance in a particular per- 
suasion ? In answer to this we are informed, that 
these Articles are no "'rule of faith;'' (what! not 
to those who subscribe them ?) that ''the church 
deprives no man of his right of private judgment'' 
(she cannot — she hangs, however, a dead weight 
upon it ;) that it is a '*' very unfair state of the case, 
to call subscription a declaration" of our full and 
final persuasion in matters of faith ;" though if it be 
not a •' fulF' persuasion, what is it ? and ten to one 
it will be "• final/' when such consequences attend 
a change. That *' no man is hereby tied up from 
impartially examining the word of God,'' i. e. with 
the '' impartiality'' of a man who must '' eat'' or 
*'' starve," according as the examination turns out ; 
an ^' impartiahty'' so suspected, that a court of jus- 
tice v.ould not receive his evidence under half of 
the same influence : " nor from altering his opinion if 
lie finds reason so to do ;" which few, I conceive, will 
'•' find," when the alteration must cost them so dear. 
If one could give credit to our author in what he 
says here, and in some other passages of his An- 
swer, one would suppose that, in his judgment at 
least, subscription rcstrainea no man from adopting 
wliat opinion he pleased, provided " he docs not 
think himself bound openly to maintain it :" that 
'* men may retain their preferments, if they will 
but keep their opinions to themselves." If this bo 
what tlie church of England means, let her say so. 
This is indeed what our author admits here, and 
yet, from the outcry he has afterward raised against 
ail who continue in the church whilst they disserit 
from her Aititlcs, one would not suppose there 



TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 329 

was a pardon left for those, who " keep even to 
themselves an opinion" inconsistent with any one 
proposition they have subscribed. The fact is, the 
gentlemfin has either shifted his opinion in the 
course of writing the Answer, or had put down 
these assertions, not expecting that he should have 
occasion afterward to contradict them. 

It seemed to add strength to this objection, that 
the judgment of most thinking men being in a pro- 
gressive state, their opinions of course must many 
of them change ; the evil and iniquity of which 
the answerer sets forth with great pleasantry, 
but has forgot at the same time to give us any 
remedy for the misfortune ; except the old wo- 
man's receipt, to leave off thinking for fear of think- 
ing wrong. 

But our church *^ preaches,'' it seems, ^^ no other 
gospel than that which she received," nor ^' pro- 
pounds any other articles for gospel," nor ^^ fixes 
any standards or criterions of faith, separate from 
this gospel : and so she herself fully declares ;" and 
we are to take her *^ word" for it, when the very 
complaint is, that she has never " acted" up to this 
declaration, but in direct contradiction to it. When 
she puts forth a system of propositions conceived 
in a new dialect, and in unscriptural terms ; when 
she ascribes to these the same evidence and cer- 
tainty as to Scripture itself, or decrees and acts as 
if they were equally evident and certain; she in- 
curs, we apprehend, the charge which these ex- 
pressions imply. She claims indeed '•'■ authority in 
controversies of faith," but '■^ only so far," sayslier 
apologist, as ^^ to judge for herself what should be 
her own terms of* communion, and what qualifica- 
tions she shall require in her own ministers." All 
which, in plainer English, comes to this ; that two 
or three men, betwiKt two and three centuries ago, 
fixed a multitude of obscure and dubious proposi- 
tions, which many miUions after must bring them- 
selves to believe, before they be permitted to share 
in the provision which the state has made (and to 
which all of every sect contribute) for regular op- 
portunities of public worship, and the giving and 
'•'•ceivlng of public instruction. And this our an- 



330 OF SUBSCRIPTION 

thor calls the magistrate's " judging for hiAiself/^^ 
and exercising the '^ same right as all other persons 
have to judge for themselves." For the reasona- 
bleness of it, however, he has nothing to offer, but 
that it ^^ is no more than what other churches, po- 
pish" too, to strengthen the argument, '^ as well as 
protestant," have done before. He might have 
added, seeing '^ custom" is to determine the matter, 
that it has been *^ customary" too from early ages 
for Christians to anathematize and burn each other 
for difference of opinion in some points of faith, 
and for difference of practice in some points of 
ceremony. 

We now accompany the learned answerer to 
what he is pleased to call the " main question,'' and 
which he is so much *' puzzled to keep in sight." 
The argumentt in favour of subscription, and the 
arbitrary exclusion of men from the church or mi- 
nistry, drawn from the nature of a society and the 
rights incidental to society, our author resigns to 
its fate, and to the answer which has been given it 
in the Considerations. He contends only, that the 
conduct of the apostles in admitting the eunuch and 
the centurion upon a general profession of their 
faith in Christ, '^ has nothing to do with the case 
of subscription," as they were admitted, not into 
the ministry, but only the communion of the church. 
Now, in the lirst place, suppose the eunuch or cen- 
turion had taken upon them, as probably they did, 
to teach Christianity, would they have been inhi- 
bited by the apostles as not having given sufficient 
•'proof or assurance of their soundness in the 
faith ?" And if not, what becomes of the necessity 
of such ^' assurances from a Christian teacher ?" 
In the second place, suppose you consider the 
church as one society, and its teachers as another, 
is it probable that those wh^ were so tender in 
keeping any one out of the first, would have thought 
the argument we were encountering, or any thmg 
else, a pretence for a right of arbitrary exclusion 

* Page 26. 
f What ivould any man in Lis wits think of this arffunn«nt, if 
ijpon the strength of it they were to make a law, that none but 
red-hairetl people ghould be a'irnitted into orders, cr ever, iu'.o 
rjjurcbes. 



• 



TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 331 

from the latter ? The case of Cornelhis, fays ouf 
author, is extraordinary ; while St. Peter was 
preaching to him, the Ho]y ^^os^ fell upon a 1 
{hem which heard the word.'' And is not this au- 
thor ashamed to own, that any are excluded from 
the communion, or even ^^inistry of the church, 
who would have been entitled by their faith to the 
gifts of the Holy Ghost V 

The answerer in the next paragraph ackno\^- 
ledges, that to admit converts into the church upon 
this one article of faith, that Jesus is the Messiah, 
was indeed the practice of the apostles \^ but then 
he tells us, what must sound a little odd to a «^hris- 
tian ear, and comes the more awkwardly trom this 
author, whom, if you turn over a page, yo" will 
find quoting the " practice of the apostles with a 
vengeance? he tells us, I say, " that no argument 
ran be drawn from the practice of the apostles, t 
Now with regard to the'' practice of the apostles, 
and the application of it to ourselves, the case seems 
to be this, (the very reverse, observe, of our au- 
thor's rule,) that we are always bound not to go 
beyon<l" the precedent, though, for want of the 
same authority, we may not always '' advance up 
to it " It surely at least becomes us to be cautious 
of" proceeding," where they, in the plentitude ot 
their commission, thought proper to '' stop. 

It is alleged in the Considerations, that annex- 
ing emoluments to the profession of particular opi- 
nions, is a strong and dangerous inducement to pre- 
varication ; and the danger is the greater, as pre- 
varication in one instance has a tende ncy to relax 

* Although the question, vrhether to believe that Jesus is U.e 
Messiah, be not the only necessary article of faith, is a question in 
which we have no concern ; our author, with the best mthnatioo 
in the world, not being able to fix such an opinion upon us : yet I 
cannot help observing, that he has put two of the oddest construc- 
tions upon the terms of the propositions that ever entered into the 
fancy of man to conceive. One is, which you may be sure he in- 
tends for his adversaries,! " that it is necessary to believe Jesus to 
be a true prophet, yet not accessary to believe one doctrine that he 
has taught.'' The other, which he means for himself, is. that 
•• by the Messiah we are to understand the only begotten bon oi 
rjod, anointed, and sent by the Father to make propitiation for th* 
»inj cf tbs whole world." 

t Pa^e 15. t Page 15. 



33^ OF SUBSCRIPTION 

the most sacred obligations, and make way for per 
fidyin every other. But " this," it seems "ho 
nothmg to do with the question."* Why it'is Xj 
very question. Whether the magistrate 'ou^ht to 
confine the provision he makes for'religiontoTosc 
who assent, or declare their assent, to a partiS 
system of controverted divinity; mid tlfis is one 

staTedtr-"" f?'^""' "• , ^"'" mu^t the mag"'* 
f«w;!i, i- f'"''''""^ °"'' alarmed adversary, " es- 

SoDr?c° "''?' "° "^'^ ^'^'^^?''' "° dignfties,or 
Disnopric, ? As many as he p eases, only let him 
ot convert them nto snares and traps by idle and 
unnecessary conditions. "But must he admit all 
persons mdiscriminatelv to these advanta"es ^" 
The author of the Considerations has toW 1 „?, that 
iffi^^i '^T'.f «™fo™ity to the liturgy, rites, and 
offices he shall prescribe : he may trusYhis officers , 
with a discretion as to the religious princinles of' 
candidates for orders, similar to^vhat tW nowex 

censurr'V'^^'"' •" "^"'^ qualirtcations^ helay 
censure extravagant preaching when it " apnears -' I 
precautions surely sufficient^either to E the 
wildest sectaries" out of the church, or prevent 

ioTorof„i"r?"^''""^'''^>-s''» '" tLTxIii;! 

law" „lf- p. '^ " separate consideration. The 
i.I° T'"" P°P'='">'' a^ <«•• as they are justifiable 

fhe Con^'S"" ?""'^'P,''^ "■"'' "'"■^h the' author of 
the Considerations has nothing to do Where 

^chmentr^nrH-"' circumstance^s of a coun;;',';: 
to th?«lL dispositions hostile and dangerous 
ed wfth cer;»-''' »':".*'«"t?Ily or otherwise connect- 
eesl v?« »t °P'"'T' '" "'^'^'°"' i' '"ay be ne- 
Uie pr^e JS encumbrances and restraints upon 
Whe?e i ttl^l propagation of such opinions, 
of men «,f P"" °^ ^">■ ^^"^^ °' religious order 
lw™no wL"?T'*°'''; <=''"^''«"'i''"' and you 
so ft^n^b-rf {'"""S":.'^'''"? those who are not 
of'vour c fi o*^,/ "P"-*" ^^'""' "^<^ ^^'>°1« order out 
rtCatleastof Jlf Pr"' ^^'a^Ii^hment : it is the 
sitv B If ivl H ''■'^"'=^' ^"'^ of extreme neces- 
C ious onini^nt ,. "' ", "°' ?" '^'^'^o""« of the reli- 
gious opinions themselves, but as they are croba- 
^iLSgij^f^a^^eo nly ma^ks you have, of desTgns 

* Pa^es I?, ?.\ 



TO ARTICLES OF FAITH, 333 

and principles which it is necessary to disarm, I 
would observe, however, that in proportion as this 
connexion between the civil ana religious princi- 
ples of the papists is dissolved, in the same pro- 
portion ought the state to mitigate the hardships 
and relax the restraints to which they are made 
subject. 

If we complain of severities, of pains and penal- 
ties, the answerer cannot discover ^' whom or what 
we mean :" and lest his reader should, by a figure 
extremely well known in the craft of controversy, 
ihe proposes a string of questions in the person of 
his adversary, to which he gives his own perempto- 
'ry and definitive no.* We will take a method, not 
altogether so compendious, but, we trust, somewhat 
more satisfactory. We will repeat the same ques- 
tions, and let the church and state answer for 
themselves. First then, 

" Does our church or our government inflict any 
corporal punishment, or levy any fines or penalties 
on those who will not comply with the terms of 
her communion ?" — Be it enacted, that all and 
5very person or persons that shall neglect or re- 
fuse to receive the sacrament of the Lord^s Supper 
according to the usage of the church of England, 
and yet, after such neglect or refusal, shall execute 
my office or offices, civil or military, after the 
time be expired wherein he or they ought to have 
taken the same, shall, upon conviction thereof, be- 
i?ides the loss of the office, forfeit the sum of five 
imndred pounds :'^t Stat. 25. Car. II. c. 2. Now, 
although starving be no *^ corporal punishment/* 
iior the loss of all a man has a " fine," or ^' penal- 
ly," yet depriving men of the common benefits of 
5ociety, and rights even of lay subjects, because 
^ they will not comply with the terms of church 
jommunion,'' is a " severity" that might have de- 
served from our author some other apology besides 
he mere suppression of the fact. 

2. '^ Doth it deny them the right or privilege of 

* Page 21. 

t This atid the Corporation Act, an otherwise excellent person 
alls, the laws which secure both oar civil arid religions lifcerti?>> 

Jl<iekst.om'''s Cprnn>. vol-, iv. p. 43". 



334 OF SUBSCRIPTION 

worshipping God in their own way ?" — " Whoevei 
shall take upon him to preach or teach in any 
meeting; assembly, or conventicle, and shall there 
of be convicted, shall forfeit for the first offence 
twenty pounds, and for every other offence forty 
pounds :'^ Stat. 22. Car. II. c. I.—-' No persor: 
shall presume to consecrate or administer th( 
sacrament of the Lord's Supper before he be or 
dained priest, after the manner of the church o; 
England, on pain of forfeiting one hundred pounds 
for every such offence :'^ Stat. 13. & 14. Car. II. c. 4 
These laws are in full force against all who do not 
subscribe to the 39 Articles of the church of Eng 
land, except the 34th, 35th, and 36th, and part o 
the 20th article. 

3. '^ Are men denied the liberty of free debate ?' 
■ — '' If any person, having been educated in, or at 
any time having made profession of, the Christian 
faith within the realm, shall by writing, printing, 
teaching, or advised speaking, deny any one of the 
persons of the Holy Trinity to be God — he shall 
for the first offence be disabled to hold any office 
or employment, or any profit appertaining thereto : 
£pr the second offence, shall be disabled to prose- 
cute any action or information in any court of law 
or equity, or to be guardian of any child, or exe- 
cutor or administrator of any person, or capable 
of any legacy or deed of gift, or to bear any ofticc 
for ever within this realm, and shall also sufifer im« 
prisonment for the space of three years from the 
time of such conviction :" Stat. 9. <fc 10. Will. III. 
c. 32. 

It has been thought to detract considerably from 
the pretended use of these subscriptions, that they 
excluded none but the conscientious ; a species ot 
men more wanted, we conceive, than formidable to 
any religious establishment. This objection ap- 
plies equally, says our answerer,* to the " oaths ol 
allegiance and supremacy ;'^ and, so far as it does 
apply, it ought to be attended to ; and the truth is, 
these oaths might in many instances be spared, 
without either danger or detriment to the commu- 
nity. There is, however^ an essential difference 

* Page ■« 



TO ARTICLES OF FAITIL 335 

between the two cases ; a scruple concerning the 
oath of allegiance implies principles which may 
excite to acts of hostility against the state ; a scru- 
pie about the truth of the Articles^ implies no such 
thing,* 

Our author, good man, "is well persuaded that 
the generality of the clergy, when they offer them- 
selves for ordination, consider seriously what office 
they take upon them, and firmly believe what they 
subscribe to/' I am persuaded much otherwise. 
But as this is a "fact,'' the reader, if he be wise, 
will neither take the answerer's word for it nor 
mine ; but form his own judgment from his own 
observation. Bishop Burnet complained above six- 
ty years ago, that " the greater part," even then. 
" subscribed the Articles without ever examining 
them,t and others did it because they must do it. Is 
it probable, that, in point either of seriousness or 
orthodoxy, the clergy are much mended since ? 
The pleas offered in support of this practice of 
^ subscription come next to be considered. " One of 
these is drawn from the sacred writings being ca- 
pable of such a variety of senses, that men of wide- 
ly different persuasions shelter themselves under 
the same forms of expression." Our author, after 
quarrelling with this representation of the plea, 
gives his readers, in its stead, a long quotation 
from the archdeacon of Oxford's Charge 4 What 
he is to gain by the charge, or the quotation, I can- 
not perceive, as the same first query still recurs, 
" Is it true, that the Scriptures are in reality so 
differently interpreted in points of real conse- 
quence ?" In answer to which, the archdeadon of 
Oxford, we are told, "has shown that points of real 
consequence are differently interpreted," and "the 
plainest texts explained away," and has " instanced 
in the first chapter of St. 'John's Gospel." The 
t plea, we conceive, is not much indebted to the 
- archdeacon of Oxford. But be these Scriptures in- 

* The answere r might have found a parallel below in some othej 
• calhB, which he does not care to speak of, viz. the case of college 
: statutes, page 34 of the CousiderationB. 

t Burnet's History of his Own Times. Conclusion. 

J See this whole Charge answered in the London Chronicle by 
Priscilla. The Lord bath aold Sisera into the hand of .a womaii. 



336 OF SUBSCRIPTION 

ferpreted as they will, each man has still a rkht to 
interpret them for himself. The church of Rome, 
who always pushed her conclusions with a courage 
and consistency unknown to the timid patrons of 
protestant imposition, saw immediately, that as the 
laity had no right to interpret the Scriptures, they 
could have no occasion to read them, and therefore 
very properly locked them up from the intrusion of 
popular curiosity. Our author cites the above- 
mentioned query from the Considerations as the 
first query, which would lead his reader to expect 
a second. The reader, however, may seek that se- 
cond for himself; the answerer is not obligedto pro- 
duce it — it stands thus : suppose the Scriptures 
thus variously interpreted, does subscription mend 
the matter ? The reader too is left to And an answer 
for himself. 

The next, the strongest, the only tolerable plea 
for subscription is^ '^ that all sorts of pestilent here- I 
sies might be taught from the pulpit, if no such re- ' 
straint as this was laid upon the preacher."* How | 
far it is probable that this would be the conse- I 
quence of removing the subscription, and by what 
other means it might be guarded against has been 
hinted already, and will again be considered in an- 
other place. We will here only take notice of one i 
particular expedient su|^gested in the Considera- 
tions, and which has often indeed elsewhere been 
proposed, namely, *'that the church, instead of re- 
quiring subscription beforehand, to the present, or ' 
to any other articles of faith, might censure her 
clergy afterward, if they opposed or vilified them in 
their preaching." The' advantage of which scheme ' 
above the present is manifest, if it was only for' 
this reason, that you distress and corrupt thousands ' 
now, for one tliat you would ever have occasion to 
punish, r Our author, nevertheless, "is humbly of| 
opinion; that it is much belter to take proper pre* 
cautions beforehand:" he must, with all his ^'hu-i 
mility," know, that when it has been proposed to 
take proper precautions of the press, by subjecting 
authors to an impriTnatur before publication, msteaci 
^.f punishment a/Uer it ; the proposal has been re- 



TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 337 

sented, as an open attack upon the rights and hi- 
terests of mankind. The common sense and spirit 
of the nation could see and feel this distinction and 
the importance of it; in the case of publishers : and 
why preachers should be left in a worse situation^, 
it is not very easy to say. 

The example of the Arminian confession iS; upon 
this occasion, recommended by the author of the 
Considerations ; a confession which was compiled 
for the edification and instruction of the members 
of the church, without peremptorily insisting upon 
any one's assent to it. But it is the misfortune of 
the Arminian to be no national church — the mis- 
fortune, alas ! of Christianity herself in her purest 
period ; when she was under the government of the 
apostles ; without alliance with the states of this> 
world ; when she composed, nevertheless, a church 
as real, we conceive, and as respectable, as any na- 
tional church that has existed since. 

Our author, who can much sooner make a dis- 
tinction than see one, does not comprehend, it 
seems, any difference between confessions of faith 
and preaching, as to the use of unscriptural term-s.. 
Did a preacher, when he had finished his sermon, 
call upon his congregation to subscribe their names 
and assent to it, or never to come more within the 
doors of his church ; there would, indeed, be some 
sort of resemblance betwixt the two cases : but as 
the hearers are at liberty to believe preachers or 
no, as they see, or he produces, reasons for what 
he says ; there can be no harm, and there is a mani- 
fest utility, in trusting him with the liberty of ex- 
plaining his own meaning in his own terms. 

We now come, and with the tenderest regret, to 
the case of those who continue in the church with- 
out bein§ able to reconcile to their belief every pro- 
position imposed upon them by subscription ; over 
whose distress our author is pleased to indulge a 
wanton and ungenerous triumph. They had pre- 
sumed, it seems, that it was some apology for their 
conduct, that they sincerely laboured to render to 
religion their best services, and thought their pre- 
sent stations the fairest opportunities of perform- 
ing it. This may not, perhaps, amount to a coiti- 



>38 OF SLTBSCRIPTIOX 

plete vindication ; it certainly does not fullv satisi- 
even their outi scruple? : else where would be the 
cause of complaint ? What need of relief, or what 
reason for their petitions ? It misrht have been 
pnough. however, to have exemptedT them, from be- 
ing absurdly and indecently compared with faith- 
less hypocrites; with papists, and Jesuits, who, for 
other purposes, and with even opposite desi^is, are 
supposed to creep into the church through the same 
door. For the fullest and fairest representation of 
their case, I refer our author to the excellent Hoad- 
]y : or, as Hoadly possibly may be no book in our 
author's library, will it provoke his " raillery** to 
ask, what he thinks might be the consequence, if 
all were at once to withdraw themselves from the 
« hurch who are dissatisfied with her doctrines ? 
Might not the church lose, what sl^ can ill spare, 
^be^service of many able and industrious ministers ? 
Would those she retained, be such as acquiesced in 
V.er decisions from inquiry and con\"iction ? AVould 
lot many or the most of them be those who keep 
rait of the way of religious scruples b}' lives of se- 
f ularity and voluptuousness 1 by mixing with the 
' rowd in the most eager of their pursuits after 
pleasure or advantage ? One word with the an- 
swerer before we part upon this head. Whence 
all this great inqiiisitiveness, this solicitude to be 
acquainted with the person, the opinions, and as- 
sociates of his adversary ? Wlience that imperti- 
nent wish that he had been '' more explicit in par- 
licular with resrard to the doctrine of the Trinity ?** 
Is it out of a pious desire to fasten some heresy, or 
the imputation of it, upon him ? Is he *' called out 
r.f the clouds*' to be committed to the flames ?* 

* We were unwilling to decline the defence of the persoos here 
•iPf-cribed, thoufh the expression in the Considerations which broogtt 
jti tlic attark, Triarife«tlj- related to a different sntject. The authrr 
^T the Consiieratione Ef-eaks c-i '* bein» bcand" to "keep op" these 
forms until relifved \j proper authoritj ; of " oiiniateriallj" coaiply- 
\ng with what we are not ab!e to reirove : allndiog. no doubt, to tfc? 
. Ese of church gorernors, who are the instrumeiiU of imposing a eab- 
-.ription which tiey may disapprove. But the' answerer, taking it 
;\r granted, that " ministerially complying" roeaiit the compIianOF 
'■•f-ministers, i. e. of clergymen officiating in their functioia, h*», by 
a qai'^ble, era blunder, traosfirrei :b« piiBSge to a sense frr which it 
V. a «#: i&te'nde'di 



TO ARTICLES OF FAITH. 339 

The 40th page of the Answer introduces a para- 
graph of considerable length, the sum; however, 
and substance of which is tnis — that if subscription 
to articles of faith were removed, confusion would 
ensue ; the people would be distracted with the. 
disputes of their teachers, and the pulpits filled 
with controversy and contradiction. Upon thi^^ 
'' fact" we join issue, and the more readily as this 
is a sort of reasoning we all understand. The 
extent of the legislator's right may be an abstruse 
inquiry ; but whether a law does more good or 
harm, is a plain question which every man can 
ask. Now, that distressing many of the clergy, and 
corrupting others ; that keeping out of churches 
good Christians and faithful citizens ; that making 
parties in the state, by giving occasion to sects and 
separations in religion ; that these are inconveni- 
ences, no man in his senses will deny. The ques- 
tion therefore is, what advantage do you find in 
the opposite scale to balance these inconveniences ' 
The simple advantage pretended is, that you here- 
by prevent ^^ wrangling'' and contention in the pul- 
pit. Now, in the first place, I observe, that allow- 
ing this evil to be as grievous and as certain as you 
please, the most that can be necessary for the pre-> 
vention of it is to enjoin your preachers as to such 
points, silence and neutrality.' In the next place^, 
I am convinced, that the danger is greatly magnifi- 
ed. We hear little of these points at present in 
our churches and public teaching, and it is not 
probable that leaving them at large would elevate 
them into more importance, or make it more worth 
men's while to quarrel about them. They would 
sleep in the same grave with many other questions, 
of equal importance with themselves, or sink back 
into their proper place, into topics of speculation, 
or matters of debate from the press. None but 
men of some reflection would be forward to engagt^ 
in such subjects, and the least reflection would 
teach a man that preaching is not the proper 
vehicle of controversy. Even at present, says 
our author, ^^ we speak and write what we please 
with impunity." And where is the mischief ? or 
^ hat worse could ensue if subscription were re- 



310 OF SUBSCRIPTION. 

moved ? Nor can I discover any thing in tlie 
disposition of the petitioning clergy that need 
alarm our apprehensions. If they are impatient 
ander the yoke, it is not from a desire to hold forth 
iheir opinions to their congregations, but that they 
may be at liberty to entertain themselves, without 
offence to their consciences, or ruin to their for- 
tunes. 

Our author has added, by way of make-weight to 
his argument, '^ that many common Christians," 
he believes, ^' would be greatly scandalized if you 
Jake away their creeds and catechisms, and strike 
out of the liturgy such things as they have always 
esteemed essential.''* Whatever reason there may 
he for this belief at present, there certainly was 
much greater at the Reformation, as the Popish 
ritual, which was then *' taken away,'' had a fasci- 
nation and antiquity which ours cannot pretend to. 
Many were probably '^ scandalized" at parting with 
their beads and their mass-books, that lived after- 
ward to thank those who taught them better things. 
Reflection, we hope, in some, and time, we are 
sure, in all, will reconcile men to alterations esta- 
blished in reason. If there be any danger, it is 
from some of the clergy, who, with the answerer, 
would rather suffer the '' vineyard" to be over- 
grown with ^' weeds,^' than " stir the ground," or, 
what is worse, call these weeds '' the fairest flow- 
ers in the garden." Such might be ready enough 
to raise a hue and cry against all innovators in re- 
ligion, as ^' overturners of churches" and spoilers 
of temples. 

But the cause which of all others stood most in 
ihe way of the late petitions for relief, was an ap- 
prehension that religious institutions cannot be dis- 
turbed without awakening animosities and dissen- 
sions in the state, of which no man knows the con- 
sequence. Touch but religion, we are told, and it 
"bursts forth into a flame. Civil distractions may 
(be composed by fortitude and perseverence, but 
neither reason nor authority can control, there is 
neither charm nor drug which will assuage, the 
passions of mankind, when called forth in the cause 

~^ Page 4], 4?. _ 



w 

^ TO ARTICLES OF FAITIL 3il 

and to the battles of religion. We were concerned 
to hear this language from some who, in other in- 
stances have manifested a constancy and resolution 
which no confusion, nor ill aspect of public affairs, 
could intimidate. After all, is there any real foun- 

, dation for these terrors ? Is not this whole danger. 

' like the lion of the slothful, the creature of our 
fears, and the excuse of indolence? Was it pro- 
posed to make articles instead of removing them, 
there would be room for the objection. But it is 
obvious that subscription to the 39 Articles might 
be altered or withdrawn upon general principles of 
justice and expediency, without reviving one reli- 
gious controversy, or calling into dispute a single 
proposition they contain. Who should excite dis- 
turbances ? Those who are relieved will not ; and 
unless subscription were like a tax, which, being 
taken from one, must be laid with additional weight 
upon another, is it probable that any will complain 
that they are oppressed because their brethren are 
relieved ? Or that those who are '^ so strong in the 

f faith" will refuse to " bear with the infirmities of 
the weak?" The few who upon principles of this 
sort opposed the application of the dissenters, 
were repulsed from parliament with disdain, even 
by those who were no friends to the application 
itself 

The question concerning the object of worship Is 
attended, I confess, with difficulty : it seems al- 
most directly to divide the worshippers. But let 
the church pare down her excrescences till she 
comes to this question ; let her discharge from 
ber liturgy controversies unconnected with de- 
votion ; let her try what may be done for all 
sides, by worshipping God in that generality*' of 
expression in which he himself Ims left some 
points ; let her dismiss many of her Articles, and 

■* If a Chriptian can think it an intolerable thing to worship one 
God through one mediator Jusus Christ, in company with any such 
as differ from him in their notions about the metaphysieal nature of 
Christ, or of the Holy Ghost, or the like ; I am sorry for it. I re- 
member the like objection made at the beginning- of the Reforma- 
tion by the Lutherans against the lawfulness of communicating with 
ZuingliuB, and his followers ; because th«>y had not the same notiou 
with them of the elements in the eacrament. And there wa« \h« 



342 OF SUBSCRIPTION 

convert those which she retains into terms of 
peace ; let her recall the terrors she suspended 
over freedom or inquiry ; let the toleration she al- 
lows to dissenters be made ^' absolute ;'' let her 
invite men to search the Scriptures ; let her go- 
vernors encourage the studious and learned of all 
persuasions : — Let her do this — and she will be se- 
cure of the thanks of her own clergy, and what is 
more, of their sincerity. A greater consent may 
grow out of inquiry than many at present arc 
aware of; and the few who, after all, shall think it 
necessary to recede from our communion, will ac- 
knowledge the necessity to be inevitable ; will re- 
spect the equity and moderation of the established 
church, and live in peace with all its members. 

I know not whether I ought to mention, among 
so many more serious reasons, that even the go- 
vernors of the church themselves would find their 
ease and account in consenting to an alteration. — 
For, besides the difficulty of defending those decay- 
ed fortifications, and the indecency of deserting 
them, they either are or will soon find themselves 
in the situation of a master of a family, whose ser- 
vants know more of his secrets than it is proper for 
them to know, and whose whispers and whose 
threats must bebou.^ht off at an expense which will 
drain the *' apostolic chamber'' dry. 

Having thus examined in their order, and, as far 
as I understood them, the several answers* given 

same objection once against holding communion with any such as had 
not the -same notions with themselves about the secret decrees of 
God relating to the predestination and reprobatiou of particular per- 
sons. But whatever those men may please themselves with thinkings 
who are sure they are arrived at the perfect knowledge of the =mo=t 
abstruse points, this they may be certain of, that in the present state 
of the church, even supposing only such as are accounted orthodox 
to be joined together in one visible communion, they communicate 
together with a very great variety and confusion of notions, either 
comprehending nothing plain and distinct, or differing from one an- 
other as truly and as essentially as others differ from them all ; nay, 
with more certain difference with relation to the object of worship 
than if all prayers were directed (as bishop Bull says, almost all 
were in the first ages) to God or the Father, through the Son. — -■ 
Hoadlpy*8 Answer to Dr. Hare's Sermon. 

* In his last note our author breaks, forth into "astonishment'' 
Sfldi Jndi^natioj), at the " follj, injujtice, and indecencv,'» cfccm- \ 



TO ARTICLES OF FAITIL 343 

by our author to the objections against the present 
mode of subscription, it now remains, by way of 
summing up the evidence, to bring " forward" cer- 
tain other arguments contained in the Considera- 
tionS; to which no answer has been attempted. It 
is contended, then, 

I, That stating any doctrine in a confession of faith 
with a greater degree of '^ precision" than the 
Scriptures have done, is in eifect to say, that the 
Scriptures have not stated it with ^^ precision" 
enough ; in other words, that the Scriptures are 
not sufficient.—" Mere declamation." 
IL That this experiment of leaving men at liberty, 
and points of doctrine at large, has been attended 
with the improvement of religious knowledge, 
where and whenever it has been tried. And to 
this cause, so far as we can see, is owing the ad- 
vantage which protestant countries in this respect 
possess above their Popish neighbours. — No an- 
swer. 

III. That keeping people out of churches who 
might be admitted consistently with every end 
of public worship, and excluding men from com- 
munion who desire to embrace it upon the terms 
that God prescribes, is certainly not encouraging,, 
but rather causing men to forsake, the assembling 
of themselves together. — No answer. 

IV. That men are deterred from searching the Scrip- 

paring our church to the Jewish in our Saviour's time, and even to 
the *' tower of Babel ;" mistaking' the church, in this last compari- 
son, for one of her monuments (which indeed, with most people of 
his complexion, stands for the same thing') erected to prevent our 
dispersion from that grand centre of Catholic dominion, or, in the 
words of a late celebrated castle-builder, " to keep us together." 
If there be any " indecency" in such a comparison, it must be 
chargeable on those who lead us to it, by making use of the same 
terms with the original architect, and to which the author of the Con- 
siderations evidently alludes. This detached note isconclBded with 
as detached, and no less curious, an oViservation, which the writer 
thinks may be a " sufEcient answer" to the whole, namely, that the 
author of the Considerations " has wrought no miracles for the con- 
viction of the answerer and his associites." Tor what purpose thi? 
^observation can be " sufficient,^* it is not easy to gueas, except it be 
designed to insinuate what may perhaps really be the cafie, that no 
hs88 than a miracle will serve to cast out that kind of spirit which has 
taken so full poseession of thtm, or ever bring them to a sound rtiind^ 
and a sincere love of tpithi 



344 OF SUBSCRIPTION, &c. 

tures by the fear of finding there more or less 
than they looked for ; that is, something incon- 
sistent with what they have already given their 
assent to, and must at their peril abide by. — No 
answer. 

V. That it is not giving truth a fair chance to de- 
cide points at one certain time, and by one set of 
men, which had much better be left to the suc- 
cessive inquiries of different ages and different 
persons. — No answer. 

VI. That it tends to multiply infidels amongst us, 
by exhibiting Christianity under a form and in a 
system whicli many are disgusted with, who yet 
will not be at the pains to inquire after any other. 
—No answer. 

At the conclusion of his pamphlet our author is 
pleased to acknowledge, what few, I find, care any 
longer to deny, '* that there are some things in 
our Articles and Liturgy which he should be glad 
to see amended, many which he should be willing 
to give up to the scruples of others," but that the 
heat and violence with which redress has been pur- 
sued, preclude all hope of accommodation and tran- 
quillity — that ^* we had better wait, therefore, for 
more peaceable times, and be contented with our 
present constitution as it is," until a fairer prospect 
shall appear of changing it for the better. — After 
reluming thanks in the name of the '' fraternity," 
to him and to all who touch the burden of subscrip- 
tion with but one of their fingers, I would wish to 
leave with them this observation ; that as the man 
who attacks a flourishing establishment writes 
with a halter round his neck, few ever will be found 
to attempt alterations but men of more spirit than 
prudence, of more sincerity than caution, of warm, 
eager, and impetuous tempers ; that, consequently, 
if we are to wait for improvement till the cool, the 
calm, the discreet part of mankind begin it, till 
church governors solicit, or ministers of state pro- 
pose it — I will venture to pronounce, that (without 
His interposition with whom nothing is impossible) 
we may remain as we are till the *^ renovation of ail 
things." 



REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT, 

ADDRESSED 

TO THE LABOURING PART OF THE 
BRITISH PUBLIC. 



Human life has been said to resemble the situa- 
tion of spectators in a theatre, where, whilst each 
person is engaged by the scene which passes be- 
fore him, no one thinks about the place in which he 
is seated. It is only when the business is interrupt* 
cd; or when the spectator's attention to it grows 
idle and remiss, that he begins to consider at all, 
who is before him or who is behind him, whether 
others are better accommodated than himself, or 
whether many be not much worse. It is thus with 
the various ranks and stations of society. So long 
as a man is intent upon the duties and concerns of 
his own condition, he never thinks of comparing it 
with any other ; he is never troubled with reflec- 
tions upon the different classes and orders of man- 
kind, the advantages and disadvantages of each, the 
necessity or non-necessity of civil distinctions, much 
less does he feel within himself a disposition to covet 
or envy any of them. He is too much taken up 
with the occupations of his calling, its pursuits, 
cares, and busmess, to bestow unprofitable medita- 
tions upon the circumstances in which he sees 
others placed. And by this means a man of a sound 
and active mind has, m his very constitution, a re- 
medy against the disturbance of envy and discon- 
tent. These passions gain no admittance into his 
breast, because there is no leisure there or vacancy 
for the trains of thought which generate them. He 
enjoys, therefore, ease in this respect, and ease re- 
suiting from the best cause, the power of keeping 
his imagination at home ; of confining it to what 
belongs to himself, instead of sending it forth to 
wander among speculations which have neither 
limits nor use, amidst views of unattainable gran- 
deur, fancied happiness, of extolled, because unex- 
perienced, privileges and delights. 

The wisest advice that can be given is, never to 
29 



m REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT 

allow our attention to dwell upon comparisons be* 
tween our own condition and that of others, but to 
keep it fixed upon the duties and concerns of the 
condition itself. But since every man has not this 
power ; since the minds of some men will be busy 
in contemplating the advantages which they see 
others possess ; and since persons in laborious sta- 
tions of life are wont to view the higher ranks of 
society, with sentiments which not only tend to 
make themselves unhappy, but which are very dif- 
ferent from the truth ; it may be a useful office to 
point out to them some of those considerations 
which, if they tcili turn their thoughts to the sub- 
ject, they should endeavour to take fairly into tlie 
account. 

And, first ; we are most of us apt to murmur, 
when we see exorbitant fortunes placed in the 
hands of single persons ; larger, we are sure, than 
they can want, or, as we think, than they can use. 
This is so common a reflection, that I will not say 
it is not natural. But whenever the complaint 
comes into our minds, we ought to recollect, that 
the thing happens in consequence of those very 
rules and laws which secure to ourselves our pro^ 
perty, be it ever so small. The laws which acci- 
dentally cast enormous estates into one creat man's 
possession, are, after all, the self-same laws which 
protect and guard the poor man. Fixed rules of 
property are established for one as well as another, 
without knowing, beforehand, whom they may af- 
fect. If these rules sometimes throw an excessive 
or disproportionate share to one man's lot, who can 
help it ? It is much better that it should be so, than 
that the rules themselves should be broken up ; an^ 
you can only have one side of the alternative or the 
other. To abolish riches, would not be to abolish 
poverty ; but, on the contrary, to leave it without 
protection or resource. It is not for the poor man 
to repine at the effects of laws and rules, by which 
he himself is benefited every hour of his existence ; 
which secure to him his earnings, his habitation. 
his bread, his life : without which he, no more than 
the rich man, could either eat his meal in quietness. 
or go to bed in safety. Of the two, it is rather more 
•Vo"r-oncrrn of tlie poor fo sfand up for the law?. 



REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT. 34? 

than of the rich ; for it is the law which defends 
the weak against the strong, the humble against the 
powerful; the little against the great ; and weak 
and strong, humble and powerful; little and great, 
there would be, even were there no laws whatever. 
Besidc; what, after all, is the mischief ? The owner 
of a great estate does not eat or drink more than the 
owner of a small one. His fields do not produce 
worse crops, nor does the produce maintain fewer 
mouths. If estates were more equally divided, 
would greater numbers be fed, or clothed, or em- 
ployed ? Either, therefore, large fortunes are not 
a public evil, or, if they be in any decree an evil, it 
is to be borne with, for the sake of mose fixed and 
general rules concerning property, in the preserva- 
tion and steadiness of which all are interested. 

Fortunes, however, of any kind, from the nature 
of the thing, can only fall to the lot of a few. I say, 
*' from the nature of the thing.'' The very utmost 
that can be done by laws and government, is to ena- 
ble every man, who hath health, to procure a 
healthy subsistence for himself and a family, 
Where this is the case, things are at their perfec- 
tion. They have reached their limit. Were the 
princes and nobility, the legislators and counsel*- 
lors of the land, all of them the best and wisest men 
that ever lived, their united virtue and wisdom 
could do no more than this. They, if any such 
there be, who would teach you to expect more^ 
give you no instance where more has ever been at- 
tained. 

But Providence, which foresaW; which appoint- 
ed, indeed, the necessity to which human aSairs are 
subjected, (and against which it were impious to 
complain,) hath contrived, that, whilst fortunes are 
only for a few, the rest of mankind may be happy 
without them. And this leads me to consider the 
comparative advantages and comforts which belong 
to the condition of those who subsist, as the great 
mass of every people do and must subsist, by per- 
sonal labour, and the solid reasons they have for 
contentment in their stations. I do not now use 
the terms poor and rich : because that man is to be 
accounted poor, of whatever rank he be, and sutfer? 
the pains of poverty, whose expcnges exceed his re- 



543 REASONS FOR CONTENTIVIENT. 

sources ; and no man is, properly speaking, poor 
but he. But I, at present, consider the advantages 
of those laborious conditions of life, which compose 
the great portion of every human community. 

And, first , it is an inestimable blessing gf such 
situations, that the}' supply a constant train of em- 
ployment both to body and mind. A husbandman, 
or a manufacturer, or a tradesman, never goes to 
\jcd at night without having his business to rise up 
to in the morning. He would understand the value 
of this advantage, did he know that the want of it 
composes one of the greatest plagues of the human 
soul : a plague by which the rich, especially those 
who inherit riches, are exceedingly oppressed. In- 
deed, it is to get rid of it, that is to say, it is to have 
something to do, that they are driven upon those 
strange and unaccountable ways of passing their 
time, in which we sometimes see them, to our sur- 
prise, engaged. A poor man's condition supplies 
him with that which no man can do without, and with 
which a rich man, with alibis opportunities and all 
his contrivance, can hardly supply himself; regular 
engagement, business to look forward to, something 
to be done for every day, some employment pre- 
pared for every morning. A fewof better jud^ent 
can seek out for themselves constant and useful oc- 
cupation. There is not one of you takes the pains 
in his calling, which some of the most independent 
men in the nation have taken, and are taking, to 
promote w^hatthey deem to be a point of great con- 
cern to the interests of humanity, by which neither 
they nor theirs can ever eain a shilling, and in 
which, should they succeed, those who are to be 
benefited by their service, will neither know nor 
thank them for it. I only mention this to show, in 
conjunction with what has been observed above, 
that, of those who are at liberty to act as they 
please, the wise prove, and the foolish confess, by 
their conduct, that a life of employment is the only 
life worth leading ; and that the chief diflerence be- 
tween their manner of passing their time and yours, 
is that they can choose the objects of their activity^ 
which you cannot. This privilege may be an ad- 
vantage TO some, but for nine out of ten it is fortu* 



REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT, 349 

nate that occupation is provided to their hands, that 
they have it not to seek, that it is imposed upon 
them by their necessities and occasions ; for the 
consequence of Uberty in this respect would be» 
that, lost in the perplexity of choosing, they would 
sink into irrecoverable indolence, inaction, and un- 
concern; into that vacancy and tiresomeness of 
time and thought which are inseparable from such a 
situation. A man's thoughts must be going. Whilst 
he is awake, the working of his mind is as constant 
as the beating of his pulse. He can no more stop 
the one than the other. Hence if our thoughts have 
nothing to act upon, they act upon ourselves. They 
acquire a corrosive quality. They become in the 
last degree irksome and tormenting. Wherefore 
that sort of equitable engagement, which takes up 
the thoughts sufficiently, yet so as to leave them 
capable of turning to any thing more important, as 
occasions offer or require, is a most invaluable 
blessing. And if the indu.itrious be not sensible of 
the blessing, it is for no otiier reason than because 
they have never experienced, or rather suffered the 
want of it. 

Again ; some of the necessities which poverty 
(if the condition of the labouring part of mankind 
must be so called) imposes, are not hardships but 
pleasures. Frugality itself is a pleasure. It is an 
exercise of attention and contrivance, which, when- 
ever it is successful, produces satisfaction. The 
very care and forecast that are necessary to keep 
expenses and earnings upon a level, form, when 
not embarrassed by too great difficulties, an agree- 
able engagement of the thoughts. This is lost 
amidst abundance. There is no pleasure in taking 
out of a large unmeasured fund. They who do 
that, and only that, are the mere conveyers of mo- 
ney from one hand to another. 

A yet more serious advantage which persons in 
inferior stations possess, is the ease with which 
they provide for their children. All the provision 
which a poor man's child requires is contained in 
^two words, '^ industry and innocence." With these 
^ qualities, though without a shilling to set him for- 
wards, he goes into the world prepared to become 
^ useful; Virtuous, and ihappy man. Nor will he 



350 REASONS FOR COXTEXT3IEXT 

fail to meet with a maiDtenance adequate to the 
habits with which he has been brought up, and to 
the expectations which be has tbrmed ; a degree of 
success suificieDt for a person of any condition 
whatever. These qualities of industry and inno- 
cence, which; I repeat again, are all thiai are abso- 
lutely necessary, every parent can give to his 
children withou* '^ ' ' • em 

by Lis own air ire 

to be comirrur.:: i ' - -in 

no other way. .1 cfiii this a eenous advantage of 
humb)e stations; because. ir» what we reckon su- 
perior ranks of life 1 difficulty in. 
placing children in may in any 
degree support then .. ^ _..„ in the habits 
in which thej have been brc»u?iji up with their pa- 
reiit? fr^'iT! which rreat, antj oftentimes distress- 
or are free. With health of 
ind, and habits of industry, 
. r i L^n.. - ^..i... i a5^ nothing to be afraid of; 
i.cr bis father or mother any thing to be afraid of 
ilr him. 

The labour of the world is carried on by sercietf 
that is. by one man's working under another man's 
direction. I take it lor granted, that this is the 
best way of conducting business, because all na- 
tions and ages have adopted it. Consequently, 
service is the relation which, of all others, affects 
the greatest numbers of individuals, and in the 
' ' r. In whatever country, there- 

well and eouitably regulated, 
; vor will be nappy. Now how 
is the ma.tter managed with us ? Exc^'pt appren- 
ticeships, the necessity of which every one, at least 
every father and mother, will acknowledge, as the 
I e=t. if not the only practicable, way of gaining in- 
siniction and skill, and which have their founda- 
tion in nature, because they have their foundation 
in thenirfirra/ ignorance and imbecility of youth ; 
except these, service in England is, as it ought to 
\te. voluntary' and by contract ; a fair exchange of 
work for wages ; an equal bargain, in which each 
party has his rights and his re4re^s ; wherein 
everv servant chooses his master. Can this be 
men^^ ? I ^iU ^^f that a continuance of this con 



1 



REASONS FOR C0NTENT3IENT. 35) 

nexion is frequently the foundation of so much 
mutual kindness and attachment, that very few 
friendships are more cordial, or more sincere ; that 
it leaves oftentimes nothing in servitude except the 
name; nor any distinction but what one party is 
as much pleased with, and sometimes also us 
proud of, as the other. 

What then (for this is the fair way of calculating) 
is there in higher stations to place against these 
advantages ? What does the poor man see in the 
life or condition of the rich, that should render him 
dissatisfied with his own ? 

Was there as much in sensual pleasures, I mean 
in the luxuries of eating and drinking, and other 
gratifications of that sort, as some men's imagina- 
tions would represent there to be, but which no 
man's experience finds in them, I contend, tliat 
even in these respects the advantage is on the side 
of the poor. The rich, who addict themselves to 
indulgence, lose their relish. Their desires are 
dead. Their sensibilities are worn and tired. Hence 
they lead a languid satiated existence. Hardly 
any thing can amuse, or rouse, or gratify them 
Whereas the poor man, if something extraordinary 
. fall in his way, comes to the repast with appetite ; 
is pleased and refreshed , derives from his usual 
course of moderation and temperance, a quickness 
of perception and delight which the unrestrained 
voluptuary knows nothing of. Habits of all kinds 
are much the same. Whatever is habitual, becomes 
smooth and indifferent, and nothing more. The 
luxurious receive no greater pleasures from their 
dainties, than the peasant does from his homely 
fare. — But here is the difference : The peasant, 
whenever he goes abroad, finds a feast, whereas the 
epicure must be sumptuously entertained to escape 
disgust. They who spend every day in diversions,, 
and they who go every day about their usual busi- 
ness, pass their time much alike. Attending to 
what they are about, wanting nothing, regrettin^: 
nothing, they are both, whilst engaged, in a state 
of ease; but then, whatever suspends the pursuits 
of the man of diversion, distresses him, whereas to 
the labourer, or the man of business, every pause 
U a recreation. And this is avast advantage whicli 



052 REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT 

they possess who are trained and inured to a liit 
of occupation J above the man who sets up for a 
life of pleasure. Variety is soon exhausted. No-- 
velty itself is no longer new. Amusements are 
become too familiar to delight, and he is in a situ- 
ation in which he can never change but for the 
worse. 

Another article which the poor are apt to envy 
in the rich, is their ease. Now here they mistake 
the matter totally. They call inaction ease, whereas 
nothing is farther from it. Rest is ease. That is 
true : but no man can rest who has not worked. 
Rest is the cessation of labour. It cannot there- 
fore be enjoyed, or even tasted, exeept by those 
who have known fatigue. The rich see, and not 
without envA', the refreshment and pleasure which 
rest aCords to the poor, and choose to wonder that 
they cannot find the same enjoyment in being free 
from the necessity of working at all. They do not 
observe that this enjoyment must be purchased by 
previous labour, and that he who will not pay the 
price cannot have the gratification. Being without 
work is one thing ; reposing from work is another. 
The one is as tiresome and insipid as the other is 
-weet and soothing. The one, in general, is the 
fate of the rich man, the other is the fortune of the 
poor. I have heard it said, that if the face of hap- 
piness can any where be seen, it is in the summey 
vening of a country village ; where, after the la- 
oours of the day, each man at his door, with his 
children, amongst his neighbours, feels his frame 
and his heart at rest, every thing about him pleased 
and pleasing, and a deliffbt and complacency in his 
sensations far be\ond wtiat either luxury or diver- 
sion can afford. The rich want this ; and they 
vant what they must never have. 

As to some other thinsrs which the poor are dis- 
posed to en%n/ in the condition of the rich, such as 
lieir state, their appearance, the grandeur of their 
hou>:es, dress, equipage, and attendance, they only 
envy the rich these things because they do not 
know the rich. They have not opportunities of ob- 
serving, with what neglect and insensibility the 
rich possess and regard the>e things themselves, 
'f thev could see the srreat man in liis retirement. 



REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT. 353 

and in his actual manner of lifs^ they would find 
him; if pleased at all, taking- pleasure in some of 
those simple enjoyments which they can command 
as well as he. They would find him amongst his 
children; in his husbandry, in his garden, pursuing 
some rural diversion, or occupied with some trifling 
exercise, which are all gratifications, as much 
within the power and reach of the poor man as of 
the rich ; or rather more so. 

To learn the art of contentment, is only to learn 
what happiness actually consists in. Sensual plea- 
sures add little to its substance. Ease, if by that 
be meant exemption from labour, contributes no* 
thing. One, however, constant spring of satisfac- 
tion, and almost infallible support of cheerfulness 
and spirits, is the exercise of domestic affections ; 
the presence of objeetrj of tenderness and endear- 
ment in our families, our kindred, our friends. Now 
have the poor any thing to complain of here 1 Are 
they not surrounded by their relatives as generally 
as others ? The poor man has his wife and chil- 
dren about him ; and what has the rich more ? He 
has the same enjoyment of their society, the same 
solicitude for their welfare, the same pleasure in 
their good (jualities, improvement, and success : 
their connexion with him is as strict and intimate, 
their attachment as strong, their gratitude as warm, 
I have no propensity to envy any one, least of all 
the rich and great : but if I were disposed to this 
weakness, the subject of my envy would be a 
healthy young man, in full possession of his strength 
and faculties, going forth in a morning to work for 
his wife and children, or bringing them home his 
wages at night. 

But was difference of rank or fortune of more im- 
portance to personal happiness than it is, it would 
be ill purchased by any sudden or violent change 
of condition. An alteration of circumstances which 
breaks up a man's habits of life, deprives hnn of his 
occupation, removes him from his acquaintance, 
may be called an elevation of fortune, but hardly 
ever brings with it an addition of enjoyment. They 
to whom accidents of this sort have happened, ne- 
ver found them to answer their expectations. After 
the first hurry of the change is over^ they are siu*~ 



354 REASONS FOR CONTENTIVIENT 

prised to feel in themselves listlessness and dejec- 
tion, a consciousness of solitude,, vacancy, and re- 
straint, in the place of cheerfulness, liberty, and 
ease. They try to make up for what they have 
lost, sometimes by a beastly sottishness, sometimes 
by a foolish dissipatioai. sometimes by stupid sloth ; 
all which eftects are only so many confessions, that 
changes of this sort were not made for man. If any 
public disturbance should produce, not an equality, 
(for that is not the proper name to give it,) but a 
jumble of ranks and professions amongst us, it is 
not only evident w^hat the rich would lose, but there 
is also this farther misfortune, that what the rich 
lost the poor w ould not gain. I (God knows) could 
not get my livelii.ood by labour, nor would the la- 
bourer find any solace or enjoyment in my studies. 
If we were to exchange conditions to-morrow, all 
the effect would be, that we both should be more 
miserable, and the work of both be worse done. 
Without debating, therefore, what might be very. 
difficult to decide, which of our two conditions was 
better to begin with, one point is certain, that it is 
best for each to remain in his owti. The change, 
and the only change, to be desired, is that gradual 
and progressive improvement of our circumstances 
which is the natural fruit of successful industry ; 
when each year is something better than the last ; 
when w^e are enabled to add to our little household 
one article after another of new comfort or conve- 
niency, as our profits increase, or our burden be- 
comes less ; and, what is best of all, when we can 
afford, as our strength declines, to relax our la- 1 
hours, or divide our cares. This may be looked 
forward to, and is practicable, by great numbers in 
a state of public order and quiet : it is absolutely 
impossible in any other. 

If, in comparing the different conditions of social 
life, w-e bring religion into the account, the argu- 
ment is still easier. Religion smooths all inequali- 
ties, because it unfolds a prospect which makes all 
earthly distinctions nothing. And I do allow that 
there are many cases of sickness, affliction, and dis- 
tress, which Christianity alone can comfort. But in 
estimating the mere diversities of station and civil 
condition, I have not thought it necessary to intro- 



REASONS FOR CONTENTMENT. 355 

duce religion into the inquiry at all ; because I con- 
tend, that the man who murmurs and repines, when 
he has nothing to murmur and repine about, but 
the mere want of independent property, is not only 
irreligious, but unreasonable, in his complaint °, 
and that he would find, did he know the truth, 
and consider his case fairly, that a life of labour, 
such, I mean, as is led by the labouring part 
of mankind in this country, has advantages in it 
which compensate all its inconveniences. When 
compared with the life of the rich, it is better in 
these important respects : It supplies employment, 
it promotes activity. It keeps the body in better 
health, the mind more engaged, and, of course, 
more quiet. It is more sensible of ease, more sus- 
ceptible of pleasure. 'It is attended with greater 
alacrity of spirits, a more constant cheerfulness 
and serenity of temper. It affords easier and more 
certain methods of sending children into the world 
in situations suited to their habits and expectations. 
It is free from many heavy anxieties which rich 
men feel ; it is fraught with many sources of de- 
light which they want. 

If to these reasons for contentment the reflecting 
husbandman or artificer adds another very material 
one, that changes of condition, which are attended 
with a breaking up and sacrifice of our ancient 
course and habit of living, never can be productive 
of happiness, he will perceive, I trust, that to covet 
the stations or fortunes of the rich, or so, however, 
to covet them, as to wish to seize them by force, or 
through the medium of public uproar and confusion, 
is not only wickedness, but folly,as mistaken in the 
end as in the means ; that iPis not only to venture 
out to sea in a stonn, but to venture for nothing. 



OBSERVATIONS 

UPON THE CHARACTER AND EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 
AND THE MORALITY OF THE GOSPEL.*^ 

On the character and example of Christ, 
In the first place, Christ was absolutely inno- 
cent : we do not find a single vice to which he was 
addicted; either from the accounts of his own fol- 
lowers, or as charged upon him by his enemies '. 
we hear nothing like what is told of Mahomet, of 
his wives and concubines ; nothing of his falling, 
like Socrates and Plato, into the fashionable vices 
of his country. In the next place, his whole life. 
that part of it at least whicn we are acquainted 
with, was employed in doing ^ood, in substantial 
acts of kindness and compassion to all those who 
fell in his way, i. e. in solid virtue. In his youth 
he set an example of subjection and obedience to 
his parents.! By his presence of mind and judi- 
cious replies, whenever insnaring questions were, 
proposed to him, he testified the coolness and sound- 
ness of his understanding. j By avoiding all dan- 
ger, when he could do it consistently with his duty, ] 
and resolutely encountering the greatest, '' when, i 
his hour was come," i. e. when his own ofllice, or * 
the destination of providence, made it necessary, 
he proved the sedateness of his courage, in oppo- 
sition to that wliich is produced by passion and en- 
thusiasm. || By his patience and forbeai'ance, when 
he had the means of revenge in his power, he taught 
us the proper treatment of our enemies. II By his 
withdrawing himself *'om the populace and repel* i 
ling their attempt:? to make him king, he showed us ; 
the sense we ought to entertain of popu'ar clamour 
and applause.*^ By his laying hold of every op- 
portunity to instruct his followers, and taking so ' 

* This tract wa» originally annexed as a suminarv and appendix 
to " Reflections on the Life and Character of Christ," by Edmund 
lord bishop of Carlisle. 

t Luke ii. 5!. 4 Matt. xxi. 24. xxx'x. 16. xxx. 37. 

(["Matt. lii. 14. 15. xiv. 12, 13. John iv. 1 — 3, compared with 
>Tatt. XV. 17— U. 

" r.uka ir. 54. Matt. xxTi. 53, compared witU Luke xxiii, S!. 
*^ Joha Ti. 15. 



I 



ON THE CHARACTER, &c. 357 

much pains to inculcate his precepts, he Mt us a 
pattern of industry and zeal in our profession. By 
the liberty he took with the Pharisees and Saddu- 
Cees, the lawyers and scribes, in exposing their hy* 
pocrisy, their errors and corruptions, he taught us 
tortitude in the discharge of our duty.* He spared 
neither the faults of his friends, nor the vices of his 
enemies.— By his indifference and unconcern about 
his own accommodation and appearance, the inte- 
rest of his family and fortune, he condemned all 
worldly-mindedness.f He was perfectly sober and 
rational in his devQtions, as witness the Lord's 
prayer compared with any of the compositions of 
modern enthusiasts.— -His admirable discourses be- 
fore his death are specimens of inimitable tender- 
ness and affection towards his followers.^ His 
quiet submission to death, though even the prospect 
of It was terrible to him, exhibits a complete pat- 
tern of resignation and acquiescence in the divine 
Will. II 

And to crown all, his example was practicable, 
and suited to the condition of human life.—He did 
not, like Rousseau, call upon mankind to return 
back into a state of nature, or calculate his precepts 
lor such a state. He did not, with the monk and the 
fiermit, run into caves and cloisters, or suppose 
men could make themselves more acceptable to God 
by keeping out of the way of one another. He did 
not, with some of the most eminent of the Stoics, 
command his followers to throw their wealth into 
the sea, nor, with the eastern faquirs, to inflict upon 
tnemseives any tedious, gloomy penances, or extra- 
vagant mortifications. He did not, what is the sure 
companion of enthusiasm, affect singularity in his 
behaviour ; he dressed, he ate, he conversed, like 
other people ; he accepted their invitations, was a 
guest at their feasts, frequented their synagoffuos, 
and went up to Jerusalem at their great festival 
He supposed his disciples to follow some profes- 
sions, to be soldiers, tax-gatherers, fishermen ; to 
marry wives, pay taxes, submit to magistrates ; t6 
carry^ on their usual business ; and, when they 

* IVfatt. xxiii. Luke xi. 64.J ~ 

f Afatt. viii. 20. xii. 46 — 50, Jobli ir. S-K 



35^ ON THE CHARACTER AND 

could be spared from his service, to return again to 
their respective callings.^ Upon the whole, if the 
account which is given of Christ in Scripture be a 
just one; — if there was really such a person, how 
could he be an impostor ? — If there was no such 
person, how came the illiterate evangelists to hit 
off such a character^ and that without any visible 
design of drawing any character at all ? 

On the moralitij of the gospel. 

The morality of the gospel [is] not beyond what 
might be discovered by reason ; nor possibly could 
be ; because all morality being founded in relations 
and conseciuences, which we are acquainted with, 
and experience, must depend upon reasons intelli 
gible to our apprehensions, and discoverable by us. 

Nor perhaps, except in a few instances, was it 
beyond what might have been collected from the 
scattered precepts of different pMlosophers. 

Indeed, to have put together all the wise and 
good precepts of all the different philosophers, to 
nave separated and laid aside all tne error, immo- 
rality, and superstition, that was mixed with them, 
would have proved a very difficult work. But that 
a single person, without any assistance from those 
philosophers, or any human learning whatsoever, 
m direct opposition also to the established practices 
and maxims of his own country, should form a 
system, so unblameable on the one hand, and so 
perfect on the other, is extraordinary, beyond ex- 
ample and belief; and yet must be believed by those 
who hold Christ to have been either an impostor or 
enthusiast. 

The following are some principal articles of his 
system. 

I. The forgiveness of Injuries and enemies ; — abifo- 
lutely original. 

^' Ye have lieard that it hath been said, Thou 
shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy ; but 

* The like did hia forerunner John the Baptist. When the pub- 
iroatis and eoldiers, people of the two moat obnoxioire professions in 
ftat ag-e and country, asked John what they were to do, John does 
not require them to quit their occupations, but to beware of the vicfe 
arid pj^rform the duties of them ; which also is to be understood as 
',he Baptist's own explanation of that f^iTaVCit^i Z'it XlpiiJiV Ccy.SiO^ i 
'TiU)f Jo wKioh Ee callfd His countrymen I 



EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 359 

I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that 
curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray 
ibr them which despitefully use you and persecute 
yoU; that ye may be the children of your Father 
which is in heaven ; for he maketh his sun to rise 
on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the 
just and on the unjust."* 

" If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heaven^ 
ly Father will also forgive you ; but if ye forgive 
not men their trespasses, neither will your heaven^ 
]y Father forgive you.^'f 

^^ Then came Peter unto him, and said, Lord, 
how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I for- 
give him : till seven times ? Jesus saith unto him, I 
say not unto thee until seven times, but until seven- 
ty times seven ; therefore (i. e. in this respect) is 
the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain king 
which would take account of his servants ; and 
when he had begun to reckon, one was brought 
unto him which owed him ten thousand talents : 
but, for as much as he had not to pay, his lord 
commanded him to be sold, and his wife and chil- 
dren and all that he had, and payment to be made ; 
the servant therefore fell down, and worshipped 
him, saying, Lord, have patience with me, and I 
will pay thee all. Then the lord of that servant was 
moved^ with compassion, and loosed him, and for- 
gave him the debt. But the same servant went out 
and found one of his fellow-servants, which owed 
him a hundred pence : ard he laid hands on him 
and took him by the throat, saying, Pay me what 
thou owest ; and his fellow-servant fell down at his 
feet, and besought him, saying. Have patience with 
me, and I will pay thee all ; and he would not, but 
went and cast him into prison, till he should pay 
the debt. So when his fellow-servants saw what 
was done, they were very sorry, and came and told 
I unto their lord all thiit was done. Then his lord, 
after that he had called him, said unto him, O thou 
wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, be- 
cause thou desiredst me ; shouldst not thou alsiJ 
f have had compassion on thy fellow-servant, even as 
I had pity on thee ? And his lord was wroth, and 
delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay 

* Mat. V. -13-15. t Mat. vi. M, I;'-. 



360 ON THE CHARACTER AND 

Sill that was due unto him ; so likewise shall my 
heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your 
hearts forgive not every one his brother their tres- 
passes."* 

'* And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have 
au^ht against any ; that your Father also, which is 
in heaven, may forgive you your trespasses.'"! 

^' Love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, 
hoping for nothing again, and your reward shall be 
great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest, 
for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil.''| 

'^ And when they were come to the place which 
is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the 
malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other 
on the left : then said Jesus, Father, forgive them, 
for they knov/ not what they. do.'''|| 

n. The universality of benevolence, without diS' 
tinction of country or religion. 

*^ They went, and entered into a village of the Sa- 
maritans to make ready for him, and they did not 
receive him, because his face was as though he 
would go to Jerusalem ; and when his disciples 
James and John saw this, they said, Lord, wilt 
thou that we command fire to come down from 
heaven and consume them, even as Elias did ; but 
he returned, and rebuked them, and said, Ye know 
not what manner of spirit ye are of.^TF 

" The Jewish lawyer, willing tofjustify himself\ 
said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbour ? And 
Jesus answering said, A certain man went down 
from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, 
which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded 
him, and departed, leaving him half dead ; and by 
chance there came down a certain priest that way, 
and when he saw him he passed by on the other 
side; and likewise a Levite, when he was at the 
place came 'and looked on him, and passed by on 
the other side : but a certain Samaritan as he jour- 
neyed, came where he was, and when he saw him 
he had compassion on him, and went to him, and 
bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and 
set him on his own beast, and brought him to an 

* Mai. xviii. 21—35. t Maik li. 25. t Luke ri. 35. 

j: Luke jxiii. r^. r L::Ve is. 52, 53- 



EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 361 

Hill, and took care of him ; and on the morrow, 
when he departed, he took out two-peace, and 
gave them to the host, and said. Take care oi 
him, and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I 
come again, I will repay thee : which now of these 
three, thinkest thou, was neighbour to him that 
fell among the thieves ? and he said, He that show- 
ed mercy- on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go. 
and do thou likewise."'^ 

III. Tlie inferiority and subordination of the cere* 
monial to the moral law. 

'-' Leave thy gift before the altar, and go thy 
way ; first be Reconciled to thy brother, and then 
come and offer^thy gift.^'t 

'^If ye had known what this meaneth, I will have 
mercy and not sacrifice, ye would not have con- 
demned the guiltless.''i: 

^' And behold there was a man which had his 
hand withered ; and they asked him, saying, Is it 
lawful to heal on the sabbath days ? that they might 
accuse him. And he said unto them, What man 
shall there be among you, that shall have one 
.sheep, and it fall into a pit on the sabbath-day, will 
he not lay hold on it and lift it out? how much 
then is a man better than a sheep ? wherefore it is 
lawful to do well on the sabbath days."|| 

" Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a 
man ; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this 
defileth a man— those things, which proceed out 
of the mouth, come forth from the heart, and they 
defile the man ; for out of the heart proceed evil 
thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts. 
false witness, blasphemies, these are the things 
which defile a man ; but to eat with unwashen 
hands defileth not a man.^U 

" Wo unto you. Scribes and Pharisees, hypo' 
crites, for ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cum- 
min, and have omitted the weightier matters of the 
law, justice, mercy, and faith (fidelity ;) these 
ought ye to have done, and not to leave the others 
undone." 

'' Ye make clean the outside of the cup and of 

**■ Luke X. 29—37. f Matt. v. 24. % ^^^tl. Xii. f 

!! Malt. xii. 10 — 13. Bee also Mark iii. 1—5. 

1[ IMatt. xr. U IS"*20. 

30 



362 OxN THE CHARACTER AND 

the platter, but within they are full of extortion 
and excess, Thou blind Pharisee, oleanse first that 
which is within the cup and the platter, that the 
outside of them may be clean also."* 

" And the Scribe said unto him, Well, master, 
thou hast said the truth, for there is one God, and 
there is none other butiie, and to love him with all 
tlie heart, and with all the understanding, and with 
all the soul, and with all the strength, and to love 
bis neisrhbour as himself, is more than all whole 
burnt-offerings and sacrifices : and when Jesus saw 
that he answered discreetly, he said unto him, 
Thou art not far from the kingdom of God. ''f 

IV. IVie condemning of spiritual pride and osten- 
tation. 

" Take heed that ye do not your alms before 
men, to be seen of them ; otherwise ye shall have 
no reward of your Father which is in heaven • 
therefore when thou dost thine alms, do not sound 
a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do, in the 
synagogues and in the streets, that they may have 
glory of men ; verily I say unto you, they have 
their reward. But when thou dost alms, let not 
thy left hand know what thy right hand doetli, that 
thine alms may be in secret ; and thy Father wRich 
seeth in secret, himself shall reward thee openly. 
And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the 
hypocrites are, for they love to pray, standing in 
the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, 
that they may be seen of men ; verily I saj* unto 
you, they have their reward. But thou, when thou 
prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hasi 
shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in se- 
cret ; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall 
reward thee openly. Moreover when ye fast, be 
not as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance ; for 
they disfigure their faces, that they may appear 
unto men to fast : verily I say unto you, they have 
their reward: but thou, when thou fastest, anoint 
thine head and wash thy face, that thou appear not 
unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which is in 
secret ; and thy Father which seeth in secret, shall 
reward thee openly.''^ 

" Mat- xi.ii.22- -25, t Mark xii. ^^~^4. 

1 M«:t, Ti. 1—6. 15—15. 



EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 363 

^*' All their works they do for to be seen of men : 
they make broad their phylacteries, and enlarge 
the borders of their garments, and love the upper- 
most rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the sy- 
nagogues, and greetings in the markets, and to be 
called of men Rabbi, Rabbi."* 

^' And he spake this parable unto certain which 
trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and 
despised others. Two men went up into the tem- 
ple to pray, the one a pharisee and the other a pub- 
lican ; the pharisee stood and prayed thus with 
himself, God, 1 thank thee, that I am not as other 
men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as 
this publican ; I fast twice in the week, I give 
tithes of all that I possess. And the publican 
standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his 
eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast say- 
ing, God be merciful to me a sinner. I tell you this 
man went down to his house justified rather than 
the other ; for every one that exalteth himself shall 
be abased ; and he that humbleth himself, shall be 
exalted. "t 

V. Restraining the licentiousness of divorces. 

^' The Pharisees came unto him tempting him. 
and saying unto him, Is it lawful for a man to put 
away his wife for every cause ? And he answered 
and said unto them, Have ye not read^ that he which 
made them at the beginning, made them male and 
female ; and said, For this cause shall a man leave 
father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and 
they twain shall be one flesh ? wherefore they are 
no more twain but one flesh. What therefore God 
hath joined together, let not man putasunder. They 
say unto him. Why did Moses then command to 

five a writing of divorcement, and to put her away ? 
[e saith unto them, Moses, because of the hard- 
ness of your hearts, suffered you to put away your 
wives, but from the beginning it was not so : and I 
say unto you, Whosoever shall put away his wife*, 
except it be for fornication, and shall marry an- 
other, committeth adultery ; and whoso marrieth 
her which is put away doth commit adultery ''t 
N. B. These four last articles were in direct op- 

* Matt, xxiii. 5---7. t Luke xviii.9— 11. 

X Matt. xix. 3--y. 



364 ON THE CHARACTER AND 

position to the established practice and opinions of 
our Saviour's own country. 

VI. The seimration of civil authority from reli- 
gions matters. 

'' Then saith he unto them, Render unto Csesar 
the things which are Caesar'S; and unto God the 
things that are God's.'"'* 

'^ And one of the company said unto him, Master- 
speak to my brother, that he divide the inheritance 
with me. And he said unto him, Man, who made 
me a judge or a divider over you V'j 

He said unto the woman, (caught in adultery,) 
"AVhere are those thine accusers ? hath no man 
condemned thee ? {?. e. judicially ; for the woman's 
answer was not true in any other sense.) She 
said, No man, Lord : and Jesus said unto her. 
Neither do I condemn thee {i. e. in the same sense, 
or as a judge. )| 

VII. Purity and simplicitT/ of divine v: or ship, 
^' When ye pray, use not vain repetitious as the 

heathen do ; for they think ihat they shall be heard ■% 
lor their much speaking. Be ye not therefore like 
unto them ; for your Father knoweth what things 
ye have need of before you ask him : after this man- 
ner therefore pray ye, Our Father,'"' &c.|| 

" The hour cometh, and now is, when the true 
worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and 
in truth, for the Father seeketh such to worship 
him. God is a spirit, and they that worship him, 
must worship him in spirit and in truth. "^ 

VIII. Estimating of actions by the intent and not 
the effect. 

" And Jesus sat over against the treasury (i. e. 
for pious uses.) and beheld how the people cast mo- 
ney into the treasury ; and many that were rich 
oast in much ; and there came a certain poor wi- 
dow, and she threw in two mites, which make a 
farthing ; and he called unto him his discip es, and 
saith unto them. Verily I say unto you, that this 
poor widow hath cast more in than all they which 
have cast into the treasury, for all they did cast in 
of their abundance ; but she of her want did cast 
in all that she had, even all her living."** 



* Matt. xxii. 2?. f L;ike xii. 13, 14. t John '" ^'^^ ^^' 

!| Matt. xi. 7—9. ^ John ir. 23, 24. ♦''' Mark xii. U— 41. 



EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 365 

IX. Extending of morality to the regulation of 
the thoughts. 

'^ I say unto you, that whosoever looketti on a wo- 
man to lust after her, hath committed adultery with 
her already in his heart.''^ 

" Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, «fec.— 
these are the things which defile a man.''t 

X. The demand of duty from mankind proportion- 
ed to their ability and opportunities. 

" That servant which knew his lord^s will, and 
prepared not himself, neither did according to his 
will, shall be beaten with many stripes ; but he that 
knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes^ 
shall be beaten with few stripes , for unto whomso- 
ever much is given, of him shall be much required ; 
and {?!. e. as) to whom men have committed much, 
of him they will ask the more."| 

XI. The invitations to repentance. 

'^ Then drew near unto him all the publicans and 
sinners for to hear him ; and the pharisees and 
scribes murmured, saying. This man receiveth sin« 
ners and eateth with them : and he spake this pa- 
rable unto them, saying, What man of you, having 
a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not 
leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go 
after that which is lost till he find it ? and when ho 
hath found it, he layeth it oii his shoulders rejoic- 
ing ; and when he cometh home, he calleth toge- 
ther his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, 
Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheen. which 
was lost. I say unto you, that likewise }6y shall 
be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more 
than over ninety and nine just persons which need 
no repentance. ''II 

^' And he said {i. e. upon the same occasion,) A 
certain man had two sons ; and the younger of them 
said to his father. Father, give me the portion of 
goods that falleth to me ; and he divided unto them 
his living : and not many days after the j^ounger 
son gathered all together, and took his journey 
into a far country, and there wasted his substance 
with riotous living , and when he had spent all, 
there arose a mighty famine in that land, and he 

* Matt. V. 28. t Matt. xv. 19, 20. 

i I.uke xii. 47, '18. I| Luke xy. 1 — 7 



'S6Q ON THE CHARACTER AND 

began to be in want ; and he went and joined him- 
self to a citizen of that country, and he sent him 
into his fields to feed swine, and he would fain have 
filled his belly with the husks that the swine did 
eat, and no man gave unto him ; and when he came 
unto himself, he said. How many hired servants of 
my father have bread enough and to spare, and I 
perish with hunger ? I will arise and go to my fa- 
ther, ^nd will say unto him, Father, I have sinned 
against Heaven, and before thee, and am no more 
worthy to be called thy son, make me as one of thy 
hired servants. And he arose and came to his fa- 
ther i but when he was yet a great way off, his fa- 
ther saw hun, and had compassion, and ran and 
fell on his neck and kissed him ; and the son said 
unto him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven, 
and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be call- 
ed thy son : but the father said to his servants, 
Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him, and 
put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet ; and 
bring here the fatted calf and kill it ; and let us eat 
and he merry ; for this my son was dead, and is 
alive again, he was lost, and is found."* 



The gospel maxims of*' loving our neighbour as 
ourselves," and '' doing as we would be done by/' 
are much superior rules of life to the to ^^s-rov of 
the Greek, or the honestum of the Latin moralists, 
in forniing ideas of which, people put in or left out 
just wuat they pleased ; and better than the idile 
or general expediency of the modern, which few can 
estimate. — As motives likewise, or principles of ac- 
tion, they are much safer than either the love of our 
country, which has ofttime? been destructive to the 
rest of the world ; or friendship, the almost con- 
stant source of partiality and injustice. 

His manner also of teaching, was infinitely more 
affecting than theirs : as may be known by com- 
paring what we feel, when we rise up from reading 
the parables of the good Samaritan, of the pharisee 
and publican, the servant who, when he was for- 
given by his master, would not forgive his fellow 
servant, the prodigal son, the rich man who laid 

* Lvkn %r. 1—21 



EXAMPLE OF CHRIST. 367 

up his stores,* — by comparing, I say, these with 

^ any thing excited in us, on reading Tully'f^ Offices, 

Aristotle's Ethics, or Seneca's Moral Dissertations. 

No heathen morahst ever opposed himself, as 
Christ did, to the prevailing vices and corruptions 
of his own time and country.f — The sports of the 
gladiators, unnatural lust, the licentiousness of di- 
vorce, the exposing of infants and slaves, procuring 
abortions, public establishment of stews, all sub- 
sisted at Rome, and not one of them condemned or 
hinted at in Tully's Offices. — The most indecent 
revelling, drunkenness, and lewdness, were prac- 
tised atlhe feasts of Bacchus, Ceres, and Cybele, 
and their greatest philosophers never remonstrated 
against it. 

The heathen philosophers, though they have ad- 
vanced fine sayings and sublime precepts in some 
points of morality, have grossly failed in others ; 
such as the toleration or encouragement of revenge^ 
slavery, unnatural lust, fornication, suicide, &c. e. g. 

Plato expressly allowed of excessive drinking at 
the festival of Bacchus. 

Maximus Tyrius forbade to pray. 

Socrates directs his hearers to consider the 
Greeks as brethren, but Barbarians as natural ene- 
mies. 

Aristotle maintained that nature intended Barba- 
rians to be slaves. 

The Stoics held that all crimes were equal. 

Cicero > ^^^ ^^^o^^ and advise men to continue 

Enictetus ^ ^^^^ idolatry of their ancestors. 

Aristotle, ) both speak of the forgiveness of injn- 

Cicero. ) ^^^^ ^s meanness and pusillanimity. 
These were trifles to what follows. 

Aristotlet and Plato both direct that means should 
f>e used to prevent weak children being brought up. 

Cato commends a young man for frequenting the 
stews. 

Cicero expressly speaks of fornication as a thing 
never found fault with. 

* Luke xii. | Matt. v. vi. vii. xxiii. Luke xi. 39 — 44. 

' t See Dr. Pricstlej's Institutes of Nat. and Rev. Religiop, voL. 



368 ON THE CHARACTER, &c. 

Plato recommends a community of women , also 
advises that soldiers should not be restrained from 
sensual indulgence, even the most unnatural spe- 
cies of it. 

Xenophon relates vrithout any marks of reproba- 
tion, that unnatural lust was encouraged by the laws 
of several Grecian states. 

Solon their great lawgiver forbade it only to 
slaves. 

Diogenes inculcated; and openly practised, the 
most brutal lust. 

Zeno the founder, and Cato the ornament, of the 
Stoic philosophy, both killed themselves. 

Lastly, the idea which the Christian Scriptures 
exhibit of the Deity, is in many respects different 
from the notion that was then entertained of him, 
but perfectly consonant to the best information we 
have of his nature and attributes from reason and 
the appearances of the universe. — The Scriptures 
describe him as one, wise, powerful, spiritual, and 
omnipresent, as placable and impartial, as abound- 
ing in affection towards his creatures, overruling by 
his providence the concerns of mankind in this 
world, and designing to compensate their suffer- 
ings, reward their merit, and punish their crimes, 
in another. The foregoing instructions, both with 
regard to God and to morality, appear also without 
any traces of either learning or study. No set 
proofs, no formal arguments, no regular deduction 
t)r investigation, by which such conclusions could^ 
be derived : — the very different state likewise of 
learning and inquiry in Judea and other countries 
— and the vast superiority of this to any other sys- 
tem of religion : — all these circumstances show that 
the authors of it must have some sources of infor- 
mation which the others had not. 



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